


I have belonged to you in a way you haven't to me

by Lawless_bard



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Canon Era, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Folklore, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Magic Revealed, Nerdiness, Scars, Scruffy Pendragon Fest (Merlin), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24478975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lawless_bard/pseuds/Lawless_bard
Summary: I have belonged to you in a way you haven't to me -Anaïs NinWhen Arthur is abducted during an assumed routine patrol, Merlin sets off to rescue his prince. But when he finds him, something is seriously wrong.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 95
Collections: Scruffy Arthur Fic Collection, Scruffy Pendragon Fest





	1. The Bearded Man

Merlin was hungry, tired, and uncomfortable. Usually he liked being out riding and it had been good weather during the last couple of days, so accompanying Arthur and the knights on the latest patrol had been reasonably pleasant. Saddle sore however, was not. Additionally, Arthur was getting grumpier each day of the supposed mission they were on, and nothing Merlin or the other knights said could lift his mood.

Uther had sent his son out with little more than a warning to not return empty handed. He was obsessed with a recent rumor that there were bandits roaming the woodland surrounding Camelot. Not just your usual run-of-the-mill bandits either, but ones practising magic no less.

_“I will not allow sorcery to blight my lands.” Uther had bellowed across the throne room. Morgana had tried to placate the king but her voice was drowned out. He gave no sign of having heard his ward and continued, “Arthur, you have a duty to your people and to your king to ensure magic is stamped out, wherever it presents itself. Do not let me down. I will not be the laughing stock of the Kingdoms.”_

Well at least that last line had held some truth. Uther Pendragon had been visibly startled and embarrassed to hear the rumor from Maelgwn Gwynedd, the King of Gwynedd instead of his own knights. Although both kingdoms maintained a strong alliance it did not do well for Uther to appear weak in front of the other, and to hear that his most hated enemy was apparently freely roaming his forests without his knowledge was abhorrent. Even if the enemy of ‘magical bandits’ was completely imagined. At the recent banquet, Maelgwn had merely mentioned some odd scuffle between his entourage and a couple of peasants near the River Habren that passed through Uther’s lands.

Merlin suspected it was actually Uther’s dignity they were out searching for, for the king despised the notion that any of _his_ people had troubled the guest of honor on his way to Camelot. No, they must have been outcasts of some kind. _Uther’s_ people knew to respect their lords.

Arthur headed towards the sight of the so-called ‘incident’, tasked with finding and capturing a magical criminal – preferably from an enemy kingdom, or in the very least a foreigner. If that ‘criminal’ was simply a terrified peasant attempting to spell a tree into producing more edible fruit or something of the kind, then at least that meant there was one less ‘evil sorcerer’ out there.

Merlin sighed loudly in frustration. “Ugh, how much longer? I don’t think there’s anyone out here,” he waved a hand around at the trees in general, “and if there ever was they’ve scarpered.”

“Thank you for your insight into the situation Merlin, but unfortunately nobody asked you.” He paused to swat away a few branches irritably. “You don’t have a say in such matters anyway.”

“It didn’t seem like you had much of a say either.” Merlin mumbled.

“What was that?"

“Hmm? Oh nothing.” Merlin adjusted himself in his saddle. The heat of the day had at least cooled now that it was approaching sunset, but that also meant that the sweat down his back was giving him a chill and clouds of midges were descending. He wished he had a nice long tail like his mare did for keeping them away, or at least longer hair like Gwaine. _Perhaps that’s why he lets it grow out so long._ He smiled to himself at the idea, thinking that Gwaine would not be impressed at the notion. He was very proud of his locks, as was Arthur for that matter. He gave him a sideways glance. Much to Merlin’s delight Arthur looked as uncomfortable as him, if not more so, with his fair hair plastered to his pink forehead and rough stubble showing along his jawline. _That’ll teach him,_ he thought _, the prat_. Merlin smiled wider. However, his expression quickly turned sour at the feel of a tiny tickle under his chin. Merlin batted at the insects uselessly before tying his neckerchief tighter. Neck bites were the worst.

“What’s the matter? Your little bottom sore?”

“Yes actually,” he shifted awkwardly in his seat again, “it’s not as fat as yours.” He was rewarded for his wit with a royal scowl.

“Sorry to interrupt such an engaging discourse about bottoms sire,” Leon came closer with a wry smile, “but Sir Elyan may have found something of interest.” Sir Leon held out something small to Arthur. Despite its size, it was apparently fairly heavy. He hefted it in a gloved palm before tossing it over to Merlin. He caught it; just, but nearly fell from his saddle in doing so. His horse snorted in complaint at the jerky movement and he patted her apologetically.

“What do you think?”

“You’re asking me now?” Merlin replied, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes, of course.” Arthur cleared his throat. “I mean, you tend know about weird things, and you’re used to polishing armor with the other servants.” He gestured to it. “Do you recognise it?”

“Well um, it’s a sword pommel.”

“Yes genius, I meant other than that.”

“Oh sorry.” He fumbled with it, bringing it close to his face for further inspection. It was clearly made of gold, and perhaps copper which wasn’t all that unusual – except that it was quite a valuable item to have mislaid. Only knights usually had such things and even then they were only ever gifted by a king, not bought. No, the most unusual thing about it was its design. While the shape of the pommel was in the classic style molded to fit a sword, the patterns that covered it were extraordinary. Merlin removed his riding gloves and felt along the surface. There was an excruciatingly delicate braided pattern in tiny golden beaded knots along the top, he had never seen such intricate craftsmanship before, not even the lady Morgana had a piece to rival it. He turned it carefully. The first face seemed to show two animals with sharp teeth or tusks, boars perhaps? He turned it again and gasped; the other side appeared to show a bearded man. The Green Man, a symbol so closely tied with the old religion that he felt sure his magic would pour out in response.

“Something wrong? Do you know who it belongs to?” Leon queried calmly.

“I umm, no not exactly.” Merlin paled. The thought of handing over such a precious item linked to the old religion to Uther seemed wrong, but he knew he couldn’t very well keep it. “I think you just found your ticket home.” Merlin looked round at the knights who had clamored closer on the narrow river path to listen.

“It’s definitely foreign, most likely Saxon or Norse, in origin at least,” he continued. “See the gold interlace on the top? I only ever saw one like this before on a knight’s sword. He was very particular about it, said he’d been awarded it – looted it more like, after a battle with some Saxons.”

“Oh I remember him”, interrupted Percival. “He was a right lout, it is his then?”

“No,” Merlin swallowed and lowered his eyes “This one’s different. It’s a erm… it has a depiction of one of the old gods on it.”

Gwaine clapped him on the back. “A ticket home indeed! Surely this is the kind of proof the king is looking for?”

Merlin leaned sideways to hand the pommel back to Arthur who actually seemed to be impressed with him for once, but froze part way. During the examination of the item, it seemed that they had all become distracted, so much so that they had not noticed the increased rustling in the trees.

“Arthur,” he said in a low voice, “ I think we’ve been surrounded”.

Arthur shot him a sharp look. “How many?” He asked.

“Not sure, I can see at least three, no four. Gwaine can you see?” Gwaine was facing towards the river. He swore under his breath.

“Six more in view,” He cursed again, “Perhaps eight now, with bows.”

Leon leaned in to Arthur and spoke something that was inaudible to Merlin.

“Alright, on my signal.” Arthur gripped the hilt of his sword, nodded quickly to Merlin and yelled. “Now!”

At once the knights reacted. They drew their swords and leapt off of their steeds, slapping their flanks so that they wouldn’t be in the way. There was no use for horses in this type of fight, the path was far too narrow and the risk of being thrown into the river too likely – especially if their animals fell to arrows. Maneuverability was key. Merlin did the same to his mare and ducked down. The sudden flurry of motion of the knights caused some kind of uproar on the other side of the riverbank where Gwaine had spotted the eight or so men. Soon, arrows were flying overhead, though fortunately they seemed to be out of range, the arrows catching only in the rushes on the nearby banking.

Towards the trees however, several of the figures seen before began to emerge. Merlin quickly realised why neither he nor the knights had spotted them earlier. The people had painted their faces with woad and mud to blend in with the environment. Who knew how long they had been following them, in their conspicuous Pendragon red cloaks and shoed horses. They appeared to be armed with an assortment of knives, short swords and long daggers, some similar to the seax, some not, and some even held crude spears. Unlike their counterparts across the river, they kept their bows strapped to their backs. As the knights ran up to meet them, swords flashing, Merlin, from his crouched hiding position noticed something else, there were more painted people with bows high up on the branches above them.

“It’s a trap!” Arthur shouted to Leon, raising his shield above him to avoid the torrent of arrows, “They must followed us to this spot knowing that we cannot move into proper formation…”

“… and have prevented us escaping across the river” Leon concluded heavily.

“I can’t tell how many there are!” Yelled Percival, darting glances up at the trees from his shield, sword at the ready with the others to combat the painted people on the ground.

“What do you want?” Arthur yelled, “We are the knights of Camelot, what business do you have in these lands?”

A member of the painted people came forward so that she stood several paces from Arthur; she raised her seax towards him, but said nothing.

“I repeat, what do you want!?”

The woman maintained her focus on Arthur, raised her head, and roared, _“Styrr!”_ From behind her in the thicket a huge beast emerged and charged towards Arthur and the knights, at once they attacked. Arthur dodged its massive claws by a hair’s breath and slashed down at its side with his sword. Arrows continued to shoot down on them while the woman with the seax seemingly melted back into the trees.

Merlin glanced around; all the knights were preoccupied with the enemy. He risked a spell, aiming it hastily towards the tree tops and succeeded in knocking two of the attackers from their perches. He crept forwards, trying to control his breathing against the rising panic in order to focus. _Arthur, where had Arthur gone?_

He peered through the undergrowth and spotted him. Arthur was edging backwards towards the river, sword ready and shield raised against the onslaught of the beast. Merlin swallowed a lump of bile at the fearsome sight. The creature was covered in patches of mangy blackish-brown fur, and where it was balding a clear view of scarred skin stretching over sinewy muscle could be seen. Its body appeared almost skeletal in its emaciation, for how thin and scrawny it was. Merlin could almost feel sorry for such a deprived being if it were not hunting his prince. It moved on all four legs to pursue Arthur but when it finally stood to its full height it must have been at least eight feet tall. Merlin watched in terror as its lips peeled back in a snarl to reveal lethal jagged teeth.

 _Arthur!_ Merlin darted forwards from his cover, crouching nearer the river. He wasn’t armed unless you counted the small dagger still attached to his belt, and Merlin didn’t. Using magic again seemed like the only option. He was still roughly out of view to the melee between the knights, archers and knife wielders and knew Arthur’s attention was elsewhere. “ _Eorđe ġehīer_ _þ me, becnyte_ _þ sé aglæan”_ he whispered, placing his palm to the ground and channeling as much of his energy as he could into the spell. The forest responded to his call, offering tree roots and vines as armament, which wound their way up and around the hind legs of the creature before pulling. It roared and began thrashing at the cords that bound it. Arthur immediately took advantage of the situation, surging forwards with his sword coming down in a wide sweeping arc. The beast shrieked.

Another screech came from the direction of the trees, _“Ny lurgsn, ny lurgyn!”_ Came the painted woman’s yell. The beast increased its efforts to escape, which took no more than a moment before it was charging straight at Merlin. He had no time react as the full bulk of the creature plummeted into him. He was momentarily airborne before feeling a hard dull thud on the back of his head. Then nothing.

***

“We need to notify the king”, a grave voice permeated Merlin’s awareness. “We do not have the resources to continue successfully.”

Merlin groaned. He felt hung-over; the throbbing in his skull was intense. Someone had rolled a red cloak under his head. _Not Arthur’s,_ he thought dimly _doesn’t smell like his._

“Is he awake?” Another voice, Gwaine’s perhaps. “Merlin?” There came a gentle pat on his cheek. He grunted in response. “Merlin?”

“Shall we tie him over his horse?” he heard Percival ask. “I can lift him, here fetch that rope.”

“I’m awake.” Merlin blinked his eyes open. They were sticky. _How long have I been out?_ “What’s going on?” He asked blearily. He heaved himself into a sitting position and looked round at the knights. Leon and Elyan were busy with their horses, Gwaine was at his saddlebag packing a rope back inside. He turned to Percival who had knelt next to him. “Arthur, where is he?”

Percival turned to look at the others apprehensively. Gwaine came over to him, his expression dark. Merlin felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Easy there Merlin, here.” Gwaine reached out his arm and helped Merlin to his feet. His head was beginning to clear but the headache remained. He wearily probed the back of his head. _No blood, can’t be too bad._ “What do you remember?”

Merlin explained the attack from the beast, how it had backed Arthur towards the river before turning on him, apparently at the painted woman’s command. He subtly left out the bits about using magic, hoping that the story made sense without it.

“So that was the last you saw of Arthur?”

“Well, yeah why where is he?” The panic in Merlin’s stomach was mounting and creating a tightness in his chest so intense that he felt he was being suffocated.

“Gone.”

“How long ago, why didn’t you follow him?” Gwaine placed a hand on his shoulder.

“None of us saw which way they left; they seemed to melt back into the woods and the water, much in the same manner they appeared. We were hoping that maybe you had seen which way they had gone, but it perhaps wouldn’t make much difference now anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Leon and the others went in search, but the attackers left very few footprints in fact only a couple of sets were found despite how many people there had been, and those sets only lead back to the river, including Arthur’s tracks.”

Elyan came over to join them, “I cannot believe none of us saw them coming, and I no not mean that as an insult to our group.”

“Yes,” Leon agreed, “there was something peculiar about those folk, the language they spoke, the ramshackle weapons, and that beast… When we fought them, it was like battling smoke. Even the ones that had seemed to fall to our swords had disappeared by the time we circled back to our original location.” Leon looked around grimly at his companions. “We can only assume Prince Arthur has been taken and that this is an act of war. I must tell the king at once. To delay now will put Arthur in more danger. They have taken him and our best hope is that it is for random or as a political hostage.”

Merlin tried to calm his hammering pulse by taking a deep steadying breath. “I could follow the river as far as possible and look for any clues of their whereabouts, they can’t have gone too far surely?” The knights shared another grim look.

“We believe based on how quickly they reached us then escaped that they had boats.” Said Gwaine in a low voice.

“Do you know for sure?”

“No but well, I can’t see how else…”

“But it could be that they are still in these woods, maybe they only took the boat so far and now are back on dry land. Please we have to continue to search!” He was desperate. Even though he knew his pleading sounded pathetic, and that there was no way the knights hadn’t searched properly, he also knew that if he abandoned the search himself he wouldn’t be able to live with it.

Leon looked torn. “I must not delay in my message to the king.”

“I will continue to search with Merlin, Sir Leon”, Gwaine said, squeezing his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin looked up at him gratefully.

“Very well. I believe it will put all our minds at rest, the king’s included, to know that there is still hope of him being found in our lands. Thank you Merlin and Sir. Gwaine.”

***

Merlin watched with a heavy heart when the knights departed back for Camelot. Although he had Gwaine with him, he could not help but feel that the search for Arthur was being abandoned.

He looked to Gwaine who was making sure their supplies were secured on their horses, then to the river. He flopped down by the banking and closed his eyes. He was pretty sure that the attackers would have headed downstream as it no doubt would be faster, and based on Leon’s and the other knight’s reports, their exit had been very swift indeed. He drew on his magic and channeled its energy to looking ahead as far as possible down the river. He focused on trying to see to the south first, which was downriver but there was nothing. He tried upriver towards the north, it wasn’t any better. He sighed heavily and clambered back to his feet.

“So, which way? Gwaine asked. “Downstream seems to make most sense I guess.” Merlin turned to face him and nodded the affirmative. They continued along the river path. There wasn’t room on horseback on the other side and so Merlin had to hope that any clues would be on the bank nearest to them. Occasionally he discretely reached out with his magic for any hint of Arthur, but his attempts were fruitless. After several hours Gwaine tentatively suggested they stop to rest. They allowed the horses to forage a little and took the opportunity to eat.

Merlin sat down with Gwaine and considered his friend. They had already been out on an unrewarding patrol for several days and now he had volunteered to continue with Merlin on another potentially futile mission. “Thank you for coming with me,” he said, “Arthur is lucky to have us.”

“I didn’t do it for him.” Gwaine passed him the rest of the bread. “Come on then, we’ve got a prince to rescue.”

When it drew dark, Merlin reluctantly agreed to make camp. It made him nervous to think that Arthur would be in enemy hands for the night, and he prayed to the gods that he was safe. He found no comfort in the fact that they had managed to travel so far, as they had not found a single clue of his whereabouts. They slept as best as they could in shifts, with a niggling awareness that the attackers though apparently gone, could very well be watching.

***

The second day passed much in the same manner, and Merlin was becoming increasingly disturbed by the lack of evidence of people. They had passed through a small farming village in the morning, but none of the villagers there had said they had seen anything, or at least admitted to it. Though Merlin was induced to trust them, as they seemed to be ordinary folk, and ordinary folk loved to gossip about strange sights – especially when offered coin.

“It’s as we thought then.” Gwaine muttered.

He was referring to an earlier worried conversation that the attackers had travelled all through the night by boat, swiftly and not stopping once to rest. That meant that they were a day ahead in the very least. If they hadn’t stopped, it also meant that he and Gwaine were unlikely to come across many clues. Merlin was becoming progressively frustrated at their mode of transport, and wished for a boat of their own, but it was not use. The only boats available in the village were tiny fishing coracles, fit for one man only, and crafted to bob gently on the surface of the water, not to swiftly cut through the meandering current of the wide River Habren.

“Don’t these villagers use the river to travel?” Merlin grumbled to Gwaine.

“Where would they go? Only merchants passing through for trade would have use for proper boats, or armies I suppose.”

Merlin threw a pebble into the offending river. He knew he was asking stupid questions, and Gwaine being the voice reason was sobering if not a little alarming. Soon they would have ridden as far as the Port of Gedref and then there was no use continuing. They did not have permission to travel into their allies’ lands, and if the attackers had left by boat, it was a genuine probability that they had sailed straight out to sea.

It was now noon and the sun beat down unbearably. They had sat down to rest under a large willow tree for the shade, but it was of little use. The heat seemed to creep between the branches still, and the sweat on Merlin’s brow trailed stickily down his face. He huffed out a frustrated breath. There was no breeze.

“Right, that’s it come on.”

Merlin looked up in surprise.

“Up with you.” Gwaine held out a hand to pull him up.

Merlin groaned and got up, while he was anxious to continue their journey he had not really rested in nearly a week. He knew they were both exhausted and it was only his fear for Arthur driving him forwards.

Suddenly Gwaine dove at his knees, swung him up into his arms and threw him into the river. Merlin thrashed his way to the surface.

“Oi! You arse!!” he spluttered.

But his insult was drowned out by Gwaine dive bombing into the water next to him, the huge splash filled his eyes, nose and mouth with water again. He rubbed it out of his eyes laughing.

“Bloody hell Gwaine, I’ve still got my boots on!”

“Oops sorry, here I’ll help.” Gwaine dived under the water and grabbed hold of one of Merlin’s feet, he pulled it up to the surface and Merlin had to paddle frantically to keep from being pulled under. Gwaine tugged off his boot and chucked it onto the banking then did the same with the other.

“Happy now?”

“Yes, thrilled.” Merlin rolled his eyes but grinned good naturedly.

Gwaine grinned back. They floated for a few glorious moments, paddling gently in the cool water to keep from drifting down river away from their packs and horses. It was almost peaceful. He looked over to Gwaine who seemed completely content, eyes closed and hair floating around him in the water.

“We ought to get going again.” He said feeling guilty at disturbing the moment, but guiltier still that they had delayed at all.

Gwaine hummed in agreement and swam to the side. He climbed out first and reached to help Merlin up. He pulled him from the water easily but did not let go of his hand.

“Here” He murmured, carefully tugging a reed from Merlin’s hair.

“Umm…” He replied. Gwaine was very close. He could see how the water had made his eyelashes cling together.

Gwaine stepped closer still, so that their chests were very nearly touching. He was gazing down at Merlin’s mouth.

“Merlin” He breathed, before softly touching their lips together. It seemed to be a question.

“I…” Merlin frowned slightly, and Gwaine smiled.

“I’m sorry.” He took a step back and let go of Merlin’s hand. “I maybe shouldn’t have done that but I just wanted to, to ask.”

Merlin didn’t know what to say to that. He looked desperately at Gwaine, very aware that his friend was waiting for an answer of some kind. He glanced down at his bare feet instead, feeling his cheeks redden.

Gwaine shrugged. “It’s all right Merlin, I should have known that you’re Arthur’s man, through and through.” Smiling ruefully he slung his pack over his shoulder and headed over to where their horses were. In a couple of minutes he was saddled up and back on the path, waiting for Merlin to catch up.

 _‘Arthur’s man,’_ Merlin thought as he nudged his mare on. _What was that supposed to mean?_ His thoughts were interrupted however by Gwaine’s shout up ahead, he kicked his horse to speed her on but drew to a halt almost immediately. Gwaine had jumped from his horse and was wading back into the river. _What on Earth?_

“There’s something here, look!” Gwaine tossed him a tiny sack, like a coin purse. He drove into the water again and was under for some time before resurfacing. Coming back up the banking he grinned. “I think we’ve found something!” Merlin had already tugged open the coin purse and was going over the items inside. “I don’t think I would have seen it if it hadn’t been so sunny and the water so clear here. These ones must have fallen out of the bag.”

There was a smooth flat stone and numerous coins of differing metals inside, gold, silver and copper. Some had been clipped, and others were obviously tainted metal, but it was still a reasonable amount.

“It must have fallen out of a boat or something, they can’t have realised otherwise they’ve have dived in to retrieve it for sure.”

“Maybe it was dark when they dropped it, or they were in too much of a hurry?” Merlin suggested.

Gwaine nodded. “We can’t know it was the attackers for definite though… Wait what’s that?” He pointed to the stone, which had scratches on it. Very purposeful scratches it seemed.

“Not sure, but it looks like writing of some kind, or tallies like Gaius uses in his medicinal notes.”

“Wait let me look at it.” Gwaine peered closely at the stone. “I think its Ogham.”

“What?”

“Ogham, it’s writing like you said first. I’m sorry Merlin but I don’t think we’re going to find Arthur in Camelot, I think they’ve taken those boats right out to sea following this here river.” Merlin felt like a lead weight had hit his stomach. He looked down the river with forlorn, thinking about how big just Camelot was, never mind the ocean and the rest of the world.

Gwaine continued, “I do have an idea of where they might have taken him and what’s more, they may have got him somewhere where we have allies.” Gwaine winked. “I thought they’d been speaking Irish but couldn’t be sure as there was something funny about it. A bit like when you try to speak the Latin names for herbs.” He laughed and shoved his shoulder playfully.

“Come on, we need to show this to the council. I can’t read it myself but they’ll know what to make of it, and we can see it’s if got any connection to the Emerald Isles and that bearded man of yours.”

“It’s not _my_ bearded man pommel.” Merlin countered, but Gwaine was on the move again already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maelgwn Gwynedd was the King of Gwynedd in the 6th century. He was a big supporter of Christianity and a bit of a tyrant according to Gildas, so I thought he’d be pretty good chums with Uther.
> 
> The River Habren is the River Severn or Afon Hafren in Welsh (Habren is Old Welsh). Geoffrey of Monmouth wrote that Hafren was a Princess who drowned in the river, she’s also called Sabrina in other literature – as is the river (in Latin!). 
> 
> The bearded man sword pommel is likely from the early 7th century so is too late to fit in with Arthurian legend, but it is real! It’s unsure if the face is meant to be The Green Man or a depiction of Odin. It’s part of the Staffordshire Hoard and if you’re a huge nerd like me you can go see it in Birmingham (after lockdown I guess).
> 
> Styrr translates to ‘seize him’ or ‘at him’ and Ny lurgsyn means ‘get him’ (I think!) but I won’t say in which language just yet ;-)
> 
> Eorđe ġehīerþ me, becnyteþ sé aglæan – Earth hear/obey me, bind that monster (Old English)


	2. The Ogham Stone

It took Merlin and Gwaine less time to return to Camelot, as they were no longer searching for clues of Arthur or his attackers along the way. They were able to cut away from the river for parts of the journey, and use the wider paths so that they could utilize their horses’ speed. When they arrived back at the castle they were immediately greeted Sir Leon.

“You have news?” Leon asked.

“Yes, well a clue to his whereabouts.” Gwaine replied. “You?”

“Very little, King Uther awaits you both in the throne room.”

“Both?” Merlin shifted nervously. He was rarely required in formal meetings, and if he was it was only ever at Arthur’s side. Leon nodded. At least Gwaine would be with him to report their findings.

As they entered the council chamber, he was relieved to see that Gaius was with the king, and the lady Morgana. Although she was an intimidating presence herself, she was often able to temper the king’s response. Sir Leon and the other knights who had been out on patrol were also present, along with the King of Gwynedd. Merlin was relieved that Gwaine was happy to do much of the speaking, and that he was able to explain the possible connection between the people who had taken Arthur and Eire.

Uther’s skin nearly turned purple at hearing of the link, but he managed a surprisingly diplomatic voice when he responded. “The people of Eire have been our allies for years, along with our neighbors of Gwynedd, what would prompt such a betrayal?”

“My lord, if I may?” Gaius interjected. Uther nodded in assent.

Gaius came forward and examined the coins and then the Ogham stone with a large magnifying glass. “Strange, such writing is usually only found on much larger stones, such as monoliths and tombs. Hmm.” From his pocket he withdrew the sword pommel. “I think we are dealing with rogues here my lord, perhaps from Eire, but more likely exiled from there.”

Merlin noticed Morgana visibly flinch when she saw the pommel, she hid it quickly with a look of polite interest and concern but it had been there. It had been a look of recognition.

Uther grumbled and looked sideways at the other king. “How so?” He demanded. “If it was a rough group of exiles then the knights of Camelot would have been able to quash them easily.”

“Guerilla tactics outdo us again my friend.” Said Maelgwn gravely. “You remember our trouble with the Picts? They were like blue devils in the mist.”

Uther scowled, “They have no honor these people. Their methods have the advantage of stealth and mobility but in a true fight they do not stand a chance.” He turned towards Leon, “How and when can we move against these people?”

“Here is what we know, they planned the attack to take Arthur carefully, but no kingdom has delivered a ransom letter or demanded a political deal. As Sir Gwaine rightly pointed out, all the coins are from different regions or countries, so they have likely been stolen or at least traded across further waters, suggesting that the people are either very successful thieves, regular seafarers or both. The Ogham stone may hold a further clue. Gaius, can you translate it?”

Gaius examined the stone again. “I am unsure of its relevance, and indeed my ability to read it accurately. I believe it simply says, ‘St. Patrick’.” He looked to Uther. “It is another link to Eire for sure sire. Sir Gwaine, perhaps the stone was in with the coins because it is a type of coinage used on those Isles?”

Gwaine shrugged, Maelgwn spoke. “Ancient peoples used stones with patterns or holes through them in the past. Perhaps some clans use it as coinage now but I would not know. Certainly we have never traded in such items, our economy runs on gold and grain.” Uther pursed his lips.

Gaius continued, “As Sir Gwaine also mentioned, they sounded like they may have been from Eire, however they have offered no contact to Camelot, and although the message may simply not have reached us yet…” He looked up at the council. Each nodded sagely. “It is unlikely that they have become our enemy so suddenly out of the blue. We’re still waiting to hear from the Port of Gedref to see if they saw or heard anything.”

“It wasn’t Irish though was it Gwaine?” Merlin interrupted then clamped his mouth shut. King Uther look venomous.

“My lords, he is right,” Gwaine cut in quickly. Meanwhile Gaius looked puzzled. Gwaine explained, “it sounded like it could be Irish, but more because of the flow of the language, I did not recognise any of the words.”

“Do you remember what they said?” Maelgwn asked.

“No, unfortunately not my lord.”

Merlin shot a quick meaningful glance at Gaius. “Go on boy, tell us.” He prompted kindly.

“ ‘ _Ny lurgsyn’_. A woman yelled it before her huge animal attacked me.”

“Manx!” The King of Gwynedd suddenly burst. “It’s Manx! Only spoken by some new settlers that have recently taken over the island of Manaw. It is a fairly small territory that lies between my kingdom and Eire.”

“Who are these people? What would they want with Arthur?” demanded Uther.

“Who knows, I believe they arrived gradually from Eire, but some say they are also Norse.” Maelgwn mused.

“And what do we know of this Manaw place?”

The King of Gwynedd spoke calmly and what he said suggested the beginnings of a plan. “It only takes about half a day to sail there from Gwynedd’s most westerly port, but the crossing usually has to be carefully planned. Also, I believe the quicker route from here would be north in order to avoid the mountains. The waters can be treacherous all year round. Manaw is known to unfortunately attract smuggles, due to tiny rocky outcrops near to the main island.”

Uther remained unnaturally silent. He was out of his depth. Camelot was landlocked with the exception of a small stretch of land to the southwest called Gedref. No doubt the king was considering the suggestion King Maelgwn made. They would have to obtain a seafaring vessel from their allies if travelling the northern route. Merlin wondered if the great Uther Pendragon would be able to request such a thing, or if his ego would get in the way and he would chose the longer route through his own lands, risking a more arduous sea journey. _Surely he would swallow his pride for his son and heir?_

“King Maelgwn, would Manaw be the same name as in _Manawydan fab Llŷr?”_ Morgana’s interest seemed to peak then and this time she did not bother to hide it. She leaned forwards in her seat, her attention fixed on Gaius.

“Ah you are asking of course about the old sea god.” He replied, then turning to the other king he said, “Calm yourself though Uther, it is nothing but a relic of the past.”

“May I perhaps advise even more caution than ever my lords? From my studies I understand _Manawydan fab Llŷr_ to be associated with mysterious happenings, which ends in ill consequences for his foes.”

Uther slammed his fist down on the table. “That is enough! Maelgwn, this island lies very close to your lands, I thought you would have eradicated such heathen nonsense?”

“As would I Uther, alas, St. Patrick himself struggled with them as we struggle today. We must continue his work in spreading the Christian message.”

This seemed to quell Uther’s anger somewhat. Merlin noticed Morgana had sat back in her chair, eyes cast down in a demure posture, but Merlin could see they were blazing. Not for the first time during his life at Camelot he wondered if maybe she was an ally.

“We do not know what forces are at work here.” Maelgwn continued, nodding at Gaius in acknowledgement of his concern. “I think we need to assume that they are hostile. They appeared to have carried out a well organised plan to abduct the crown prince, for what reason no-one knows, but I think to wait and see would be unwise.”

Heads nodded around the table.

Uther spoke, “Whatever the peril, we will face it, our army is strong. And I _will_ have my son returned. Can I rely on you, King Maelgwn, for your support?” Merlin let out an internal sigh of relief to hear those words.

“Gwynedd will of course offer you aid. As I mentioned the quickest route from here would be to head north and then cross through Gwynedd to meet The Great Seas of Meredoc. I can offer you the labor of my men in ship building. My deepest regrets that we cannot give you our own fleet, as you know, these are required to maintain the safety of our lands.

The coastline of Gwynedd stretched for 870 miles, and they were often under attack from raiders. It was also their main method of transport and trade around their kingdom, so much of it being difficult to cut across due to vast mountainous regions that covered the land. In comparison, Camelot’s only port was easily protected due to its position and Uther did not command a fleet of any kind, as he had not had need to until now.

“Your support is much appreciated Maelgwn, and we will of course compensate any resources used with gold. Tell me, how quickly can you get word to your men and begin ship building?”

“You are fortunate, we should already have enough seasoned materials for at least one ship. It will hold several men, crew included.”

Leon shifted in the chair. He knew that the knights of Camelot could sail, as they had used the river networks through the kingdom on many occasions. But there was no doubt that they would have to take quite a few of Maelgwn’s men too. They were not confident seafarers. This meant that the number of knights that could be part of the rescue mission was dwindling especially when considering they might have to take an entire island. He spoke, “It will have to be a mission of stealth then my lords. Unless, we wait until more ships can be built.” He looked to King Maelgwn.

“I am sorry, the timing is not good for additional ships to be made. It is chance that we have the materials available for one at all due to it being campaign season. It can take four to eight weeks for one ship to be built. However, I will make it happen for you in four as it will be a smaller vessel and if Uther, you can spare some laborers from your lands?”

Uther have a sharp, firm nod.

“Good, obviously it will take a little time to get the message to the ship yards, and for your people to arrive, no more than a few days though I would assume?”

“My men will leave immediately.” Uther responded. He nodded to a steward who hurried quietly away, no doubt to relay the message and begin gathering laborers and supplies for the journey north.

Gaius spoke, “If you are content with the information delivered my lords, then I will get back to my work, and further research into the Island of Manaw. I would like to spend some time with Geoffrey and perhaps take some books from the archive if you do not object?”

Uther waved his hand in dismissal. He was already pouring over the maps that showed the island on it, and was now in discussion with Maelgwn over the best place to land the ship once they got there.

***

That evening, after Merlin had finally had chance to bathe, he had had to retrieve many, _many_ books from a seriously grumpy Geoffrey. Gaius eventually called him over to eat. He was busy cutting tiny flowers from some dried stems and squinting at a medical text.

“Merlin”, he turned while Merlin was mid mouthful of pottage. “I am not sure what situation you will all be going into. Manaw is said by some to have been a refuge of sorts for Druids who were driven out of Gwynedd.”

“Druids?”

“Yes, don’t speak, eat and listen. Druids have long been persecuted, even before the time of the Great Purge. During the Roman occupation, _Ynys Môn_ , an island very close to the northwest shores of Gwynedd was sacked, killing the holy leaders and destroying the sacred sites. It is thought however that some escaped to sea, some to Eire, and other’s further up into the Pictish lands. Some might not have been able to get so far, the seas can be treacherous as King Maelgwn described.” He looked towards Merlin sympathetically and continued,

“The Island of Manaw has therefore long been known to be a strange and mysterious place, associated with illusory magics. This island may well have been established as a refuge of sorts for a desperate Druidic community, and while they are only known to be peaceful people, we cannot assume that is the case now. I am talking hundreds of years ago, who knows what the people there are like now. You said that a woman was able to command a huge dog-like beast?”

Merlin nodded, dutifully shovelling in another spoonful and tearing off some bread.

“Hmm interesting.” Gaius switched texts momentarily to look at one that Merlin had dragged up from the library earlier. “Yes, there have been tales of the ghost of a black dog on the island too. Locally called _Moddey Dhoo_. I already spoke of the deceptive magic that surrounds the island?”

“It was no ghost though Gaius. It was able to throw me into a tree with much force. Remember? He pulled up his tunic up to show Gaius the huge yellowing bruise on his side.”

Gaius frowned. “I thought I told you to put some arnica paste on that? You know where it is.” Merlin huffed and grabbed the yellow/ white paste, daubing it generously onto his mottled skin. Gaius nodded, satisfied. “Hmm, anyway well no I suppose that wouldn’t be a ghost. My point is Merlin that you need to be careful.”

“I always am.”

Gaius raised his eyebrow. Merlin attempted his best innocent wide-eyed look and reassuring smile. It did not work, especially because his massive bruise was still on show. He pulled his tunic down hastily.

“Merlin I am telling you these things because I know that with you I have at least some chance of being heard. I said all I was able to say on the matter to the council, but any magic mentioned in front of King Uther is met with hostility, and while the situation does perhaps warrant that response, it also clouds his judgement. It is only a theory but when Sir Leon first returned a few days ago, he told the council of how the people had seemingly disappeared, and that even the fallen ones had vanished.”

“Like smoke he said.”

“Quite. Well, I believe I also mentioned the illusory magic that is linked to the island. There are other stories that _Manawydan fab Llŷr_ was able to hold off an entire attack of the island with only one man, even though the attacking army was reportedly made up of a thousand warriors.”

Merlin scoffed. “A thousand men? Who would have such an army anyway?”

“It is most likely a metaphor Merlin. Come now, you know what these old texts are like. They report Truths in different ways, but it is the message which is important.” He paused to add another ingredient to his concoction. “The Truth in this case being that you should not underestimate a wild and ancient place, small though it may be.”

Merlin thought about this, and how being underestimated sometimes gave him an advantage. His mind then turned to the Druids of ancient times, and those that were in hiding now. He knew that the Druids had been treated appallingly under King Uther’s reign, but he found it hard to believe that they would have taken Arthur, as they were peaceful people. “What about the Picts that King Maelgwn mentioned, what had he called them?”

“Blue devils in the mist.” Morgana said.

Merlin jumped, and Gaius looks uneasy. He wondered how long she had been listening at the door before making her entrance.

Gaius continued his work, plucking at some sort of herb, and sprinkling it carefully into a muslin cloth to be boiled in water. “My lady, your sleeping draught is almost ready. I will send Merlin up with it once it had cooled.”

“Thank you Gaius but I would prefer not to take it tonight.”

“Is your sleep improving?”

“No,” she tipped her head to the side. “But the dreams are clear, and I wish to see what they have to tell me.”

“Forgive me Morgana, but I am not sure I understand you.”

She turned to Merlin. “In my dreams, I saw your beast the one Gaius thinks could be a ghost dog? Well it is very real, it was…” She frowned, “Somewhere familiar, but it was hard to see. But before that, there was a boat, and an island, and a tower.”

Merlin stared at Morgana. He didn’t risk looking at Gaius.

“My dear,” he said gently. “Is it possible that the stressful events of the past few days have been influencing your dreams… perhaps the discussions you hear in the council room and your conversations with the king are seeping into your sleeping mind”

“I had the dream two weeks ago, it was very clear then but since taking your medicines they have faded.”

Merlin couldn’t help but glance at Gaius then. He was very pale and he spoke carefully. “Blue devils in the mist is an interesting way to describe the battle with the Picts, but only in that the mists above the perilous lands and into Pictish territory can be so difficult to navigate. The Picts however, being on their own land, did so with ease and were able to catch our armies by surprise on many occasions. The people who attacked in the woods did so on Camelot lands, lands that our knights know very well, and that outsiders in theory should not, particularly not the Picts. Also the knights did not describe the usual type of body paint typically worn by Picts, while Arthur’s attackers wore woad, they had also mixed it with mud. It was a disguise, rather than tribal patterns. No, I believe we are dealing with another people entirely.”

“Sorcerers then.” Morgana spat. “You’re as bad as _him_.” Merlin was alarmed, what she said bordered on treason. She span on her heel and swept out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Gaius sighed. “When this is finished Merlin, he nodded at the sleeping draught that was cooling. Take it to her.”

“Umm, I don’t think that she wants it Gaius.”

“Yes I know, but you need an excuse to talk to her further. I believe her dreams may hold some Truth, the beast, the boats and the island she mentioned we already know of, but the tower we do not, and we still need a location once the knights reach Manaw. This tower may very well be the place that Arthur is being held, if Morgana’s dream holds anymore clues to his whereabouts you must find out and then use that information to direct the knights to that location.”

“I think you’re overestimating how much sway I have with the knights. How am I meant to persuade them to believe me I know where Arthur is without proof? I can’t very well say it’s based on a hunch that Morgana’s dreams are prophetic.”

“I think you _underestimate_ your friendship with Sir. Gwaine.” Gaius replied.

Merlin felt himself redden, right up to the tips of his ears. “Well what about Morgana, I really don’t know if she will talk to me, what do I say?”

“She is scared and vulnerable Merlin, and you are unthreatening and kind.”

“Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.” He continued, “I have tried to hide the facts from Morgana but I fear that to do so for longer will cause more harm in the long term. She is already noticing the links between her dreams and reality, and her distain for Uther’s stance on magic is obvious. I think we may be able to trust her with some things, but Merlin.” He looked at him sternly. “You must not reveal yourself to her. It is enough that she must keep her own secrets do not burden her with yours.”

“But surely to know that she is not alone would be a comfort?”

“She _is_ alone,” he said gravely. “A lady of her position is much more visible and at risk of persecution than you, particularly because she still lacks the ability to control her gifts, while you naturally excel at controlling yours.”

“Oh I don’t know about that, but maybe I could help her?”

“We _will_ help her Merlin, but not at your expense. Help her by letting her share a secret we are already aware of, she has as much as admitted her gift of Sight to us already. I doubt that she would share such information with Uther but we must endeavor to ensure he does not find out. Here now, it’ll be cool enough.” He reached out to hand a small vial to him, filled with a shimmering concoction. “On second thoughts…” he turned away and busied himself with something that Merlin couldn’t quite see; then passed back the vial wrapped in a muslin cloth. It felt heavier and was a bit more of an awkward shape. Gaius turned away again and began reading from one of Geoffrey’s books.

Merlin climbed the castle stairs feeling guilty already. How could he expect Morgana to open up to him, when he himself was hiding so much from her? Things that despite Gaius’ warning, he knew would help her. If he had known growing up that there was even a slight connection to be had with another person, no matter their magical talents he would want it, he knew he would. To be able to confide his secrets with Gaius alleviated that need somewhat, but Morgana – she had no one.

As he reached out to knock on her chamber door he paused, hearing someone on the other side stepping towards it already. He stood back to wait as Gwen opened it.

“Oh!” She exclaimed in surprise. “Hello Merlin! Are you alright?”

Merlin smiled, “Um yes thanks Gwen. Is your lady here? I have something to give her from Gaius.”

“You can tell him I still don’t want it.” Morgana’s voice drifted haughtily through the open door.

“Umm,” he said to Gwen. “I think Gaius has put something else in here for her too, something, not just the sleeping draught I mean.” He finished awkwardly.

Gwen paused, but she nodded and smiled. Opening the door wider for Merlin to enter. Morgana looked livid, she faced him scornfully and folded her arms in such a similar way to Arthur that it was unnerving. Merlin was used to dealing with surliness however.

He bowed, “Umm my apologies Lady Morgana. I have the sleeping draught,” Morgana narrowed her eyes. Merlin gulped. “But I have something else too.” he finished quickly and handed the small wrapped package to her. She took it but kept her eyes trained on him for a few moments.

“I believe you by the way.” he said, impulsively.

She merely raised her eyebrows.

“About, err your dreams I mean. I believe that they um. You know…” he didn’t know if he should say anything in front of Gwen. It seemed risky to assume she knew. He looked at her nervously. She had sat down demurely and was mending something of Morgana’s while gently humming to herself, giving Morgana an air of privacy, but she was clearly available should she be needed. _I think that’s what Arthur must be on about when he says I’m a bad servant_ he thought. _I’d never be so quietly calm and useful, especially not in this situation._ Merlin smiled to himself inwardly, _he doesn’t like it when I’m quiet though either_. Suddenly he was caught off guard by the immense wave of despair he felt. _Where was he?_ _They had to find him. They must!_ He swallowed and the wave settled back into a deep pain somewhere in his chest that over the past few days he had been trying to ignore.

Morgana was still looking at him, head tilted ever so slightly to the side. Gwen continued to hum unobtrusively.

“Thank you Merlin”, Morgana said softly. Although he was unsure if it was for the items he’d given to her or for believing her dreams were true.

She took a seat near her window and began opening the small parcel. Merlin hovered where he was, being uncertain whether or not he had been dismissed. He watched Morgana’s eyes widen, dart to Gwen and then re-focus on Merlin. “Are you sure Gaius put these in here for me?”

“Yes of course.”

“You were there weren’t you? When these were found?” She held up the bearded man pommel, and the Ogham Stone.

“Err yes, well Sir Elyan found the pommel, and Sir Gwaine found the stone.”

“What do you make of them?”

Merlin was confused as to why his opinion of these objects was again being considered. He replied carefully, trying to keep his tone disinterested.

“Gaius believes that the stone says St. Patrick on it, and King Maelgwn thought that maybe it was a type of coin.”

Morgana looked at him blankly, clearly unimpressed. She had been in the same meeting after all.

He swallowed again and took a risk. He remembered her reaction on first seeing the other item. “The sword pommel shows The Green Man.”

Morgana maintained her calm demeanor but saw her eyes flash. “And how do you know this name? Such things are not openly discussed. _I_ only know of it from the council meetings I am ordained to attend and which banned such things.”

“The village where I am from, the old gods are not so… the laws were not so harsh on people whom – not that the laws here are bad! And the people there, they’re not sorcerers or anything.” _Oh god!_ He was not doing very well. He was usually so good at lying, what was happening to him?

“It’s all right Merlin, I understand. The laws of Camelot are unyielding, it is common knowledge that country folk are more… forgiving of differences, or perhaps they simply do not notice them as much as they do inside the citadel.”

She turned the pommel in her hand. “I recognised this pommel from my dream. I think perhaps the beasts on this side are the same as the beast I saw too. Perhaps the same as the beast you yourself saw?”

“Does it tell you anything about where Arthur might be?”

“No, my dreams only showed me that he would be taken soon after holding it. I saw this, and then I saw his abduction. My vision of this however,” she held up the stone, “I do not think has come to pass. I saw you giving it to someone, another servant of some kind perhaps in a tower? Perhaps not…”

“So St. Patrick is a clue? It is Eire or Manaw where this tower is?”

“I do not think it says St. Patrick exactly, tell Gaius to check again, tell him.” She rubbed her temple, “Tell him: _Inis Patraic_. Here.” She passed the pommel and the stone back to Merlin. Merlin noticed her hesitate with the pommel; he knew how she felt. He remembered how his own magic had responded and how he had felt a jolt of protection for the relic of the old religion.

“Keep it.” He whispered. Taking the stone only. She looked at him hopefully. “I know how you…” He stopped himself, as he remembered his mentor’s warning. “I’m sure Gaius knows you will keep it safe, and I don’t think they will need it for the voyage”.

“Doesn’t Gaius need it for his research?” She asked, but her hand had already circled tightly around it.

He shook his head. “He has made a sketch in his notes. You keep it.” He repeated. She smiled brightly at him then, and he was slightly taken aback at the sudden change in her demeanour.

“Thank you Merlin.”

He bowed, smiled at Gwen and made his exit. _Inis Patraic?_ He thought, more Manx perhaps?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Manx is such an awesome language. I don’t speak any Irish but I’ve heard it sounds quite similar to Donegal Irish?
> 
> Manaw is apparently the Old Welsh name for the Isle of Man. Ynys Môn is the Welsh name for Anglesey. Druids were attacked there by Romans around 60 AD.
> 
> I have used the amazing map created by Versaphile to inform me of where the different kingdoms are and the distance between them etc.
> 
> The Moddey Dhoo, is a ghostly black dog which is rumored to wander the walls and corridors of Peel Castle (on the Isle of Man). It’s a fairly recent myth, but a good one I thought.


	3. St. Patrick's Isle

Gaius had been right on two counts. The first, that they could trust Morgana, for she had not spoken a word of Merlin’s knowledge of The Green Man to anyone except Gwen, and secondly that his relationship with Gwaine was indeed strong.

Much to Merlin’s relief there had been no awkwardness between the two of them since the moment by the river. Occasionally, he thought he saw Gwaine looking at him in a certain way, but anytime he caught the gaze Gwaine simply gave him a lopsided grin and continued chatting away with the rest of the knights.

On the issue of Arthur’s rescue, Merlin had spoken privately with Gwaine and Lancelot, who in turn discussed the matter with the others. The knights had agreed that Merlin should accompany them and he hoped that this would also extend to allow him to join them on their voyage, despite the small number that the vessel would hold. Gwaine however, had even seemed puzzled that it was even a request.

_“Of course you’re coming.” He had said, bemused. “Who else will we tease the entire way there?”_

_“I regret this already. I rescind my request to accompany you.”_

_Gwaine shoved him, “Nah. You don’t.”_

Merlin had been right too, _Inis Patraic_ was indeed Manx. After he had said the words to Gaius, his mentor hurried to one of Geoffrey’s books and confirmed it. “How curious that the name would have been written in Ogham, but that it was Manx… though King Maelgwn did say the people of Manaw were likely from Eire.”

“So these people are Irish but speak another language and were originally Druidic? How can that be?”

Gaius gave him a serious look. “The people of Manaw are likely a mixture of societies. The people of Camelot are probably even more mixed than those on that island. Cultures, communities and religions shift and change through the ages like the tides. The community there is called Manx, but they will have roots to many other places, as we all do.” He went on. “The Pendragon line traces itself back to the Romans, but who were they? A citizen of Rome could have been from any conquered land.” Gaius smiled, “I am not scolding you Merlin. Just know that sometimes the question of who a people are can be more complicated than limiting it to lands that they previously inhabited, or even the language they speak. Cultures may keep their traditions but also adopt new behaviours and these become blended.” He patted his pockets “Take The Green Man on the sword pommel for instance, while you recognised it instantly as one of the old gods, those less familiar with them and more familiar with say Christianity might be tempted to claim it as a different deity – or a saint. It is perhaps only because of its supposed ‘foreign’ style’, and the instances in which it was found that the members of the council so readily agreed with you about it being of the old religion. It is a beautiful and valuable piece, and I think if someone here could have passed it off as ‘legal’ they would have it mounted on their sword already. Oh where is that by the way Merlin?” he patted his pockets again.

“So _Inis Patraic_ then?” Merlin prompted.

“Ah yes, ‘St. Patrick’s Isle’ ”.

“Oh, so where’s that? Another island?”

“I shall have to confer with the council members as they still have the maps. From these books I can say that St. Patrick’s Isle is just off the coast of Manaw, connected by a causeway when the tides are low. It is fortunate that Morgana’s dream has gleaned such information. Having no Manx speakers available makes translation difficult. King Maelgwn himself only recognised it when spoken, to read it, and to read it accurately in Ogham would have been nearly impossible.”

“You were close.” Offered Merlin.

Gaius smiled again. “Thank you Merlin, but being close is not quite the same as being _right_. We owe the lady Morgana our gratitude.”

“Don’t worry she’s been thanked” said Merlin. Rubbing the back of his neck fugitively.

Gaius stopped looking around for the pommel. He raised one perilous eyebrow. “I see.”

***

They were very fortunate that King Maelgwn Gwynedd was still with them, not only because of the immediate permission to travel through his lands, and the availability of ship building services but also because of his knowledge of the Island of Manaw. His advisors knew of the rocky outcrops near to the island to avoid, _Carrick ny Kirkey_ and the slightly larger islet of _Yn Cholloo_. It was unknown if these were inhabited but because of their locations, they assumed the rocks would at least draw smugglers. All were agreed that it would be best to completely avoid the south of Manaw. Camelot was putting a lot of trust in their Welsh allies, and Merlin hoped the information and support they offered would be enough.

Maelgwn was vaguely aware of St. Patrick’s Isle, but only because of the maps he and the council had been pouring over for the last few days. Neither the King of Gwynedd nor his companions had been on the islands themselves, only navigated around them. They would be going into relatively unknown territory.

After a week, Uther finally concluded their plans, and they were able to set off. They aimed to reach the northwest coast of Gwynedd in a within a similar time period, then aid in the ship building for potentially two days and set sail as soon as possible. The amount of time that had dragged on since Arthur had been taken had dulled the initial shock of the attack, but had increased Merlin’s anxiety. There was not a waking moment that he did not think about how the prince was faring, and what state they would find him in. In truth, his mind was preoccupied with those thoughts even in sleep. Whispers of the _Moddey Dhoo_ crept through his dreams, its ghost-like claws suddenly becoming real and sinking into Arthur, tearing his skin from his body. There had been several times when he had woken in the night, startled and panting hard, with his legs twisted in sweat soaked sheets.

When they finally departed, Uther had stood on the castle steps to see the group off. It comprised of Leon, Percival, Elyan, Gwaine and Lancelot, not only because they were the prince’s main guard, but also because each knight had argued his case to be part of the mission. This was likely because they had met their foes before and felt that they knew now how to deal with them. Merlin suspected it was more due to the guilt felt by allowing Arthur to be taken in the first place. It was a guilt he shared. Morgana, standing by the king’s side had made meaningful eye contact with Merlin before following Uther back inside. He remembered what her dream had shown her regarding the Ogham stone, and he rubbed his finger over the place where it was secured safely in his jacket. Gwen hesitated briefly, smiling bravely to Merlin, her brother Elyan and to each of the other knights in turn. Her eyes settled warmly on Lancelot before she gave a quick perfunctory curtsy and headed back into the castle.

The journey north was uneventful. The knights were their usual jovial selves as much as they could be but there was a definite sense of loss throughout the group. Merlin knew how they all felt. Without their leader, without Arthur’s presence, they were simply not the same. By the forth day of travel even Gwaine had lapsed into long thoughtful silences.

By their sixth day, they made it to the coast and Merlin took in his first sight of the ocean. It expanded in front of him seemingly forever, appearing both majestic and foreboding. The more he watched it the more he couldn’t help feeling that the way it moved and swayed, no doubt by the command of the moon, was wild and ancient. The sea was clearly a magic that no man should try to tame. It made his own magic and very existence feel insignificant. He shivered at the thought of setting sail to be completely surrounded by it.

As they dismounted, Merlin was comforted to find that King Maelgwn was good to his word. They were met by a messenger who immediately showed them where the knights could stable their horses and where they could refresh themselves. A small camp had been erected already so Merlin and the other servants didn’t have to waste time constructing their own. The next morning they were invited to see the progress made on their boat.

The vessel was a typical design according to Gwaine, but having never seen anything other than small fishing boats and merchant traders on the rivers Merlin couldn’t comment. Though it seemed large to him they were again warned that only twelve men would fit, at least four should be able to sail, and all needed to be able to row, even if the winds were favourable. Merlin turned to Gwaine in alarm, who only grinned.

“Sit next to Percy, he’s got arms enough to row for two men.”

“What about when we have Arthur?” Merlin twisted his hands fretfully.

“Then we will have completed our mission and be sailing blissfully home.” Said Gwaine unhelpfully. “Look, it will be fine Merlin, the bigger worry is getting onto the island unseen. Think on that instead and let Maelgwn’s men worry about the boat, that’s what they’re here for.”

But it turned out that getting onto Manaw was something that Maelgwn’s men were already discussing with Sir Leon.

“These two smaller crafts are less likely to be seen from land and are much more manoeuvrable if you are spotted,” A large heavy browed man explained to Leon, he pointed to two canoe like boats. “We will lash them each side of the hull, and when anchored at sea, or _Carrick ny Kirkey_ should that be your choosing, some of your men can row to St. Patrick’s Isle more discretely.”

They spent two days aiding in completing the build. Merlin’s role was mainly to refresh the labourers or tend to the knights’ armour and weaponry. He felt slightly at a loss for what to do without Arthur. I can’t actually miss how bossy he is can I? The knights seemed to realise it and helped him to stay busy. Thought within a few hours he wasn’t quite sure if he felt thankful for that, especially when he ended up mucking out stables for eight or so horses.

On the day that they sailed, Merlin’s main duty was to ensure that all of the knights’ amour and weapons were well hidden. They wanted to attract as little attention as possible and so anything that could catch the sun’s light had to be covered. The swords were sheathed in unremarkable leather scabbards; Merlin even twisted his own belt around so that the shiny brass buckle wasn’t showing. Additionally, all the knights wore grey or brown cloaks rather than their usual vibrant red. Merlin was also provided with one, which he was glad for if only due to its considerable warmth. Who knew how cold it would be out on the open water?

Finally they were ready. Merlin stood on the pier and looked upon the vessel with trepidation. He had never been on a boat before, not like this. A passing sailor slapped him on the back, “Fasten them packs down under the benches lad,” he said gruffly. “These little boats can rock about something rotten and you don’t want all your gear flying overboard.”

“Oh,” replied Merlin feeling ever the more queasy. “Thanks I will.”

Despite the sailor’s squat figure, he boarded the ship with a light grace and began busily securing one of the canoes with complicated knots. He looked back to Merlin. “Ah come now, there’s no reason to be afraid. Nothing bad will happen to you at sea unless it’s your time, and if it is there ain’t nothing you can do about it.”

 _How wonderfully comforting_. But Merlin merely nodded, and boarded the ship as carefully as he could manage. It rocked slightly under his weight, but once he was settled he found the undulating motion of the sea faintly soothing. _Another step closer to Arthur_. In fact, it wasn’t the sea that he feared, or at least it wasn’t the thing he feared the most. It was not being able to find Arthur. A secret part of the plan, a part that they had only discussed around the campfire and away from the eyes and ears of any of the other servants, was Merlin’s role in the rescue. He had argued his point to go ahead in disguise and get the rough layout of St. Patrick’s Isle. The knights had looked distinctly uncomfortable at this prospect when he first prosed it.

_Leon had explained his concern, “It’s all very well you sneaking in there Merlin, but what are you going to do if somebody realises you don’t belong there? What if your presence raises suspicion and they look for your boat, and then discover our location? I know you are willing to put your own life in danger in order to save the prince and that is commendable, noble even and not something that is expected of a man of your rank. I mean that as no disrespect you understand. The problem is, you will not just put your own life in danger but the rest of us too, there are not enough of us to hold off an attack should they have ships to follow us.”_

_But Merlin had not been deterred._

_“They won’t suspect me because I know what it is to be a servant.” He was slightly annoyed that Percival and Gwaine had shared a sardonic look. “Okay I know I’m not the best servant to Arthur, but he’s an ass. I know how to be quiet and inconspicuous, no one will even look at me. People of importance rarely spare a glance for servants. I will be nearly invisible.”_

_At this point in his argument he had given Lancelot a quick meaningful glance. The part he was leaving out was the fact that he had been mastering a cloaking spell. He had used the few days before the beginning of their journey to practise. It only worked for short bursts, and didn’t actually make the caster invisible. It did, however, make him less interesting to onlookers, whose gaze wouldn’t be able to fix on him for more than a moment. He had unnerved Gaius several times whilst practising and felt secure in his ability. Lancelot was the only one aware of this part of the plan, and had vowed to support Merlin in front of the other knights._

Leon conferred with them on several other occasions, but in the end it was decided. They would allow Lancelot and Merlin to take one of the tiny rowboats to shore from the main vessel. Merlin would gain as much information as he could on the isle, potentially even the location of Arthur; then as soon as he could he would steal back to the boat and row to the main ship. Lancelot would either hide ashore if there was enough vegetation to permit it, or simply drop Merlin off and then meet him again with the boat after a few hours. It was not a prefect plan, but perhaps that concern could wait until a little further along the journey. For now Merlin contented himself with going over the Irish Gwaine had taught him to try to blend in as much as possible once they made it to their destination.

***

The sea was mercifully calm and the skies clear as they set sail. _Arthur would love this_ , he couldn’t help but thinking as he watched the glittering water ripple by. His mind drifted to imagining Arthur call loud clear orders to his men whilst mucking in with the rest of them to help row. His shirtsleeves rolled up and blond hair whipping up in the wind. But then his heart sank. He remembered that Arthur had already made the journey, likely gagged, bound and possibly injured. Merlin thought of him alone for all the days and nights since he had been taken and his heart ached even more.

“Come on now Merlin.” Percival chided him. “You can pull an oar better than that. I’ve seen those muscles that your big baggy shirts hide. You ain’t fooling me.”

Merlin knew that Percival was only being kind, and smiled in response. Forcibly turning his mind to the monotonous work he pulled more purposefully at their shared oar, glad to concentrate on each dip of the flat blade into the water. _Hold on Arthur, we’re on our way_.

After a few hours the wind had picked up enough to lift the sail, and Merlin could rest his weary arms. He had managed to row reasonably well but had zero knowledge of actual sailing, and due to the model of their vessel he was effectively out of a job for a while. Lancelot leaned forwards from his bench behind.

“Sleep for a while Merlin. There isn’t any use in you staying awake worrying and you will need your wits about you when we land.”

Merlin nodded in agreement and Percival shifted fractionally closer to him to allow him to rest his head on one of his huge arms. He huddled down in his thick cloak and tried to drift into some kind of restful state.

“Merlin always gets the best seat.” he heard Gwaine tisk jovially.

“Jealous?” Came Percival’s reply, quickly followed by an “Ouch!” As Gwaine no doubt gave him a boot to his leg.

Merlin smiled to himself. Glad to be surrounded by good men who he knew would do everything they could to help Arthur. His cloak was warm, and the gentle waves of sea relaxing. Eventually he managed to drop off into dreamless slumber.

***

Initially, the tilting rocking sensation confused Merlin. _Hammock?_ His sleepy brain thought. But the last time he had slept in one he had been a child. _Boat_ , he corrected as the rest of his mind and body sluggishly awoke. The sun had dipped much lower in the west and he figured he must have been asleep for at least a couple of hours. Merlin sat up abruptly and peered all around. The sail had been stowed away, and no one was rowing. He craned his neck, figuring that they must be near their location but saw no signs of land.

Percival turned to him. “They think we are near, land birds have been spotted flying over this area. We are going to anchor soon.”

“What here? What to?” Merlin rubbed his face; it felt a little sticky from the sea spray.

“Yes here, or hereabouts. I’m not sure how they do it exactly but they seem pretty confident that they can keep the vessel reasonably stationary for a while, at least as long as the weather holds.”

Merlin tilted his head towards the sky. It seemed that they were in luck, a few cheerful puffy clouds littered the dimming blue sky, and the wind was doing no more than gently ruffling his hair.

A shout called up from the bow of the boat and one of the Gwynedd sailors moved towards the speaker. Merlin saw them confer, nod heads to each other and then sit back down. The one who had moved to receive the message, Daffyd as Merlin remembered him, spoke to his neighbor who then stood up. He squinted into the distance; his well trained seafaring eyes clearly spotting something satisfying. He nodded briefly to his shipmate and then addressed the crew.

“ _Tir o’n blaenau!_ ” He grinned and Merlin noticed one of his front teeth was slightly chipped. “Land ahead!” The sailor pointed towards the east.

There was a flurry of activity amongst the sailors, their experienced hands working ropes and pulleys to lower a large sack looking device into the water. Merlin frowned trying to make sense of the operation. It seemed that the men were creating a sort of underwater kite, which caused the boat to drag slightly. They deployed another differently shaped one soon after, and their progress seemed to slow significantly.

“Merlin?” Lancelot leaned to him. “I’ve been speaking with Daffyd there while you were resting, he says that once we see land we will be roughly an hours journey via a smaller row boat to Manaw. We could go nearer, but would risk being spotted.”

“How will we find our way back to this boat? I can barely see the land from here, never mind spot the boat from land” Just then Merlin felt a jab in his shoulder. Percival was poking him with something wooden and cylindrical.

“The captain”, Percival inclined his head to the bow where the caller was giving further commands to his crew, “has said you may borrow this.”

Merlin recognised the object as something important. Despite being made of wood it had been polished to a high shine, and when the captain noticed it being handed over he fixed his eyes on Merlin. Merlin inclined his head in a sort of seated bow and the captain nodded in return before continuing with his tasks.

“He said you can use it see further, look into the smaller end.”

Merlin did as he was instructed and would have jumped back in surprise if he hadn’t been sitting. It was like using one of Gaius’ magnifying globes, but instead of it focusing on something in front of him, it was able to focus on nearly anything in the distance that he turned his gaze to. He swung it around in excitement.

“Oi watch it!” Percival complained. “You’ll have my bloody eye out if you’re not careful!”

“Oh sorry.” Merlin couldn’t put the instrument down; over to the east he could now see the outline of something solid. Cliffs, they were definitely cliffs. He followed the line of them and gasped. “Buildings! I see them! Percy this is amazing!” He rested the instrument reverently on his knee.

“Good huh? Just be careful with it.” Percival laughed. “That captain said he’d throw us all overboard if your didn’t come back with it.”

Merlin’s next real view of the island was from the small rowboat, which sat much lower in the water than the ship. He alternated his vision between the spyglass and his normal eyesight to judge where would be best to land and to look out for any obvious signs of life on the island. As they drew closer he was able to make out the scale of the dark cliffs that protected St. Patrick’s Isle. They were steep and littered with animal life. Puffins, oystercatchers and gulls flit elegantly overhead, darting in and out of the water with soft splashes. The whole place held a beautiful and wild atmosphere, much like the sea it lay upon.

“Anything?” Asked Lancelot, meaning ‘anything dangerous?’

Merlin pressed his eye to the spyglass again. “No.” He replied, “Not much in the way of vegetation either, but if you head that way a little more we should come upon an area where I think there might be caves. Perhaps that would work?”

Lancelot nodded, and steered them towards the location Merlin had suggested. By the time they reached it both could see clearly that there was in fact a small network of caves in the cliffs, but hidden from view from the shore. They rowed in to one of the larger openings slowly, each weary of potential enemies that may be utilising such a good hiding spot, but there was no one. Tidemarks could be seen at various stages on the cave wall, but even the highest mark meant that Lancelot could wait until high tide and still have a reasonably secure hideout until Merlin returned from his exploring. There might be an issue if the tide became very low, as they weren’t sure if the tide went out a long way to expose a beach. If it did they would be very conspicuous heading down to the water carrying a boat, but as the tide was on the way in still, they reasoned that they would have at least a few hours.

They secured the boat and Merlin set about gathering and focusing his energy into the clocking spell. He knelt as best as he could onto the slippery barnacle covered rocks and placed his hands over his chest.

“ _Díeglae_.”

Climbing back to his feet he turned to Lancelot. “Right, I think I’m ready.”

“Oh you’re still there I didn’t…” He trailed off with a grin. “Oh very good. I will wait for your return.” He paused, looking around at their hideout and the rocks that surrounded them. “Perhaps come back while it is still light enough to row, and to see our way back to the main ship with the spyglass.”

Merlin nodded. He worried that leaving Lancelot alone would leave him vulnerable to whoever occupied the island, but there was nothing that could be done.

“Go Merlin.” He smiled. “I will be fine.”

***

The aim was to walk in to a public space confidentially, with a host of fish to pretend to be a merchant fisherman from Eire if he could get away with it, or an exile from Albion if not. Merlin needn’t have bothered, there was a market place open and he blended in easily with other traders, some Irish, some Saxon and some wilder looking people, Norsemen. His cloaking spell offered even more protection. The market, thought small, stretched right down to a pier where boats were tethered.

St. Patrick’s Isle itself was no larger than the citadel of Camelot, perhaps smaller. A scattering of wooden buildings knotted together around one larger central building, which was roundish in shape for sure, but certainly didn’t warrant being called a tower. Alarm bells rang in Merlin’s head. He took some deep breaths to calm himself and re-focus. He remembered that Gaius said the whole island was known for illusory magic. He though of his own cloaking spell and how it worked by making the onlookers gaze slide off him. People would still be able to see him, but if they tried to regard him in any detail they would find themselves unable to focus. He wondered if a similar charm could be being used for the tower.

He wandered amongst the traders and merchants, pretending to be looking for something in particular, by looking closely at their wares with false interest. However, he was allowing his peripheral vision to take over. There, in the corner of his eye he spotted something, a shadow was being cast over the majority of the trading tables, but when he looked up to see what caused it only the small wooden building could be seen. He allowed his eyes to relax once more, training his mind to see what they couldn’t. The shadow originates from the same place, he thought. That building must be much larger than it appears to be. Reasoning that further investigation of this secretive place was necessary, he made his way there.

The wooden building looked like it could be a Jarl’s house, which would mean that his servant’s disguise would still hopefully work. He realised he should be able to walk into the servants’ entrance without too much difficulty, as long as he maintained his cloaking spell, and didn’t speak to anyone. His plan worked. He passed a young serving woman on his way through the narrow doorway, and while she could perceive his presence enough not to bump into him, she did not question who he was or what he was doing there. Merlin continued along, briefly noticing that the walls were no longer wooden, as has been their appearance from the outside, but in fact stone of a much older looking building. _This must be it!_

It didn’t take Merlin much time to work out where the kitchens were, and knowing the kitchen at Camelot’s castle to be the place for picking up most information he made his way there. He followed the faint aroma of bread, and felt very grateful that he didn’t come across any more people, despite his spell. He hovered a moment on the steps that lead down into the main kitchen, noticing that there was only one member of staff. He cleared his throat loudly in order to draw the cook’s attention to himself momentarily.

“ _C’red t’ou jannoo heorse ayns shen?_ ”

“Oh, er…” he figured he was being asked what he was doing, and replied the best he could in Irish. He pointed hopefully to the bread. “ _Caithfidh mé bia agus uisce a thabhairt chuig na príosúnaigh_.” He winced, knowing he wasn’t speaking the proper tongue of the place and that his pronunciation was terrible.

The cook screwed her eyes up at him. “Yer from Albion? Yer accent sounds funny.”

“Er yeah, getting away from it more like.”

“Hmm.” She sniffed. “Well yer can’t be takin’ that, it’s fer the the Master. ‘Ere this’ll do em.” She handed Merlin a lump of what looked like goat’s cheese and some older darker loaf, possibly treacle bread as it gave off a slightly sweet aroma.

Merlin wondered who this ‘master’ was. He had not been able to glean anything about the inhabitants of the tower from people in the market place. Mainly because he had felt that it was too risky to speak directly to anyone in a crowed area and raise any kind of suspicion.

The cook jabbed her boney finger into his chest. “Go on then with yer.”

“Yep, yes thanks. Er, where’s the water please?”

“Water?”

“Um yeah?”

“Ladle it up from there, here’s a pitcher.”

Merlin knew that prisoners must be kept in dungeons of some kind, so at the first stairwell he found he headed down. Unfortunately it lead out to a small sea exit and boat house. He groaned; though perhaps that exit might be useful later he thought. He traipsed back up the stairs and headed in a different direction only to find himself at the same exit again. Oddly he didn’t come across a single guard or other member of staff. This must be the same kind of hiding spell. Merlin unfocused his vision, allowing his eyes to relax and his other senses to take over. He walked a little slower, making the most of the empty passage ways. After a little while his eyes snagged on an opening, it looked like it could be a doorway but when he turned to face it there didn’t seem to be anything there. He moved forwards towards the area, squinting his eyes. Finally he recognised a darker danker smell that hinted of briny damp, earthen decay and worryingly death. There way no doorway, it was a whole other corridor, without stairs that wound down in a spiralling slope. He hurried, trying not to slosh any of the water. He didn’t know what state Arthur would be in, and how much food or water he would have had access to.

The passageway levelled out, but Merlin did not speed up. A sickening sensation of dread filled his lungs as the acrid smell of human decay grew stronger. He edged along in the dim light until he could make out the glint of iron prison bars. Most of the cells were empty; he passed four that only appeared to contain cobwebs and dust. Using his outstretched fingertips to trail along the damp stone wall, he found himself wishing that he had brought some kind of light with him, as the only illumination came from an embrasure at the end of the dungeon corridor.

Merlin’s step faltered as he came to an occupied cell. There, on the floor of the cell was a body. It was clear even in the poor light that the man was no longer of this world, and even if by some small chance he had a pulse it was unlikely that he would survive; for as Merlin edged cautiously forwards he could see that the darkness around the body was not shadow, but thick dark blood. There was far too much for the poor man to survive if he was still even alive. Merlin could hear his heart roaring in his ears and he dared to move closer. At seeing pale skin and greying red hair he knew it could not be Arthur. He shuddered in guilty relief, feeling sick at himself for being glad it wasn’t the man he sought.

As he drew closer to the next prison cell, he sucked in a breath. Arthur was sitting upright in the cell, back to the far wall, head hanging down, and chin resting on his chest. He was in a abysmal state, Merlin could barely tell the colour of his hair anymore it was matted with so much grime, the sharpness of his cheekbones rivalled his own, and he seemed to have a long dark streak of something shiny that began at his temple and trailed down to his dingy coloured shirt collar.

“Arthur.” He whispered. No response, he shuffled right up to the bars his boots accidentally knocking against the metal clumsily. Arthur brought his hands up to his head and held it, knees coming up to his chest. “Arthur,” he tried again “It’s me.” He realised that Arthur had put his hands over his ears. Merlin took a long look up the corridor. It seemed pretty empty.

“Arthur!” He called, louder this time.

“Stop it, go away.” Moaned Arthur, desperately pressing his palms even harder over his ears and beginning to rock. “You’re not _my_ Merlin.”

Merlin recoiled, _what the?_ “It’s me, what’s wrong? What are… stop!” Arthur was now rocking so hard that his head hit the back of the wall with a heavy thump. He checked the corridor again quickly, and decided it was a safe.

“OI, DOLLOP HEAD!” He shouted.

Finally, Arthur uncovered his ears. “Merlin?” he croaked slowly looking up. His eyes widened, Merlin could see the reddened whites shining in the dark as they did so. “Oh!” Arthur looked momentary relieved, only for his expression to immediately turn to fear again. “You need to get out of here, you shouldn’t be here!” His voice cracked as he spoke.

“Nah it’s fine I’ve got a new job here, my old employer was awful, really bossy, completely arrogant.”

Arthur just stared. Merlin sighed, “I’ve come to get you out of here - obviously.”

“You, on your own? You can sail?” Even in his anxious and exhausted state, Merlin could hear the incredulity in his voice.

“I have many talents – as I keep telling you.” He sighed again, lowering his voice. “No, I’m not alone, your knights are here. They have anchored not far from this island and I’m here to help locate you. I fit in best as a servant because well you know.” He gestured to his general being. “Anyway, now I know where you are I can get you out through the sea tunnels. There’ll be a row-boat waiting for us to the main ship.”

“Merlin I don’t think…”

“I’m so sorry it won’t be now, but tonight okay? Here I brought you this,” he fumbled in his pockets for the loaf and cheese and thrust them through the bars. “Eat this, it’s not much but...” he trailed off glancing up at Arthur.

He hadn’t moved. “Merlin, I need you to listen to me. It’s not safe. The people here they’re not” He paused heavily, rasping on his next words. “There is something really wrong here, the people they’ve, I’m not sure that I… The magic they used makes people…” He trailed off, gulping. His bloodshot eyes darted to his neighbour’s cell. He looked like he was going to be sick.

Merlin heard movement further up the narrow and winding corridor in the direction he had entered. They were both silent for a moment while they listened to the footsteps fade away.

“I have to go, I’m sorry. Just hold on a few more hours. I promise I’ll be back once it’s dark enough.” He reached through the bars again this time placing the food and water carefully on the cell floor. Still Arthur did not move. Instead he raked his hands through his dirty hair aggressively and hung his head. “I’ll see you soon sire.” Said Merlin quietly, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no clue if you could actually write Manx in Ogham! 
> 
> Díeglae – to conceal/ hide oneslf. (Old English)
> 
> C’red t’ou jannoo heorse ayns shen? – What are you doing up there? (Manx)
> 
> Caithfidh mé bia agus uisce a thabhairt chuig na príosúnaigh – I have to bring food and water to the prisoners. (Irish)


	4. The Son of the Sea

Returning to Lancelot was a little more awkward than Merlin would have liked. Although there was a guard on duty in the small area before the servant passage, they were standing in such a way that Merlin would have to barge past them in order to leave. Not wanting to risk his cloaking spell being disrupted, he decided to wait until the guard moved. At least that was his intention; he managed about half a minute before he grew immediately restless and threw a small rock down the opposite corridor. It skittered loudly and as soon as the guard started in the direction of the sound, Merlin hurried through the vacated exit into the small courtyard. The last of the tradespeople were clearing away their stock from the small market. Though they were unlikely to notice him, Merlin carefully picked his way past the remaining stragglers as he was unsure of how loud his footfall was. His heart was beating erratically. _We’ve found him!_ He thought, elated. _He’s all right!_ Though perhaps ‘all right’ was a little too optimistic. Arthur had seemed not quite himself to say the very least. As Merlin crept over the rocky slopping ground back to the caves he mentally went over his encounter with the prince.

 _How thin he was!_ He wondered if Arthur had been deprived of food, and if so for how long. Merlin thought back to times of siege, or when famine had hit neighbouring villages. Arthur looked to be wasting away in a similar way to those affected. But then why had he not leapt at the food? Could he not move? _How hurt had he been?_ It had been impossible to tell. The filth that he had been caked in, in addition to the gloomy location meant that Merlin had only really seen the injury to his temple. He knew from experience that head injuries often bled quite a bit and that made it difficult to know how bad it really was without first cleaning the wound. Arthur had remained seated throughout their conversation. Perhaps his leg or back had been injured at some point? Merlin cursed himself for not having asked, surely that was the kind of information they would need for getting him out. What if Arthur couldn’t walk? What then? But Arthur hadn’t mentioned he couldn’t walk – only that Merlin shouldn’t be there. That brought Merlin’s thoughts to the state of the prince’s mind. What had he said? _‘You’re not my Merlin.’_ The words made him feel unsettled in a way that he usually associated with being caught out for his magic. But he knew Arthur hadn’t meant it like that, there was no way he had been exposed. How had he meant it though? Had someone been impersonating Merlin? Why? And why had Arthur seemed so afraid? He had literally beat his head against a rock so as to not have to listen to him, at least until he had realized it was indeed Merlin he was talking to. 

Merlin chewed his lip with worry but there was nothing to be done for now. He had to believe that Arthur would be all right until they could release him. He reached the caves and found his way to the one where he had left Lancelot. The sun was now much lower in the sky, but he knew it would stay light for at least another couple of hours.

They greeted each other and then cautiously made their way back to the ship. The spyglass allowed Merlin to pick it out as a shockingly clear silhouette against the deep orange sky and he silently thanked the gods for his luck that the captain had such a device. Finding the ship would have been extremely difficult without it, their vessel appeared only as a tiny speck to the naked eye.

“You seem worried friend”, Lancelot spoke, drawing Merlin’s attention away from their destination. “Is there something that bothers you?”

“Not exactly.” Merlin felt uneasy but couldn’t name the reason. Perhaps it was just seeing Arthur in such a state. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re sure?”

“Well, my cover was blown.”

Lancelot’s eyes widened. He scanned the horizon in the direction that they had just come. No doubt searching for pursuers.

“Oh no, I don’t mean that really. Just that me pretending to be Irish lasted all of three seconds before I had to admit being from Albion. They bought the exiled-man-now-humble-servant though.” He puffed out a laugh. “Just don’t tell Gwaine will you? He’ll be devastated he wasted all that time on teaching me Irish.”

Lancelot gave him a quizzical smile. “You know that he doesn’t resent any time spent with you Merlin.”

He felt his cheeks grow warm. Did the whole damned world know about their almost-kiss?

“That goes for all of us. You know that? You are one of us and we are always grateful to count you in our company. Arthur most of all.”

Merlin ducked his head feeling honoured. “Thanks.” He murmured.

They made it back to the ship to meet the anxious faces of the knights. Merlin quickly put them at ease by detailing the success of his mission and the whereabouts of Prince Arthur. Daffyd helped pull their little canoe up against the ship and tied it in place swiftly. He then leaned down to hoist Merlin aboard, and Lancelot soon after. He thanked him with a smile.

“You still got my spyglass lad?” The captain called.

“Er, yes Captain Neifion.”

The captain grunted a nod. Merlin reached to pass it back to him, but he shook his head. “You’ll need it again I’m sure. What’s your plan then folks?”

Lancelot explained the small network of caves that they had been able to use in gaining covert access to the isle, and Merlin told of how he had been able to sneak up onto the land and into the marketplace. The knights and sailors listened closely, nodding occasionally.

“But there’s something else… Arthur, he doesn’t seem right. He was such a mess and…”

“Well sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you then!” Daffyd interrupted him with a grin.

“Huh?”

“Isn’t it your job to make sure the prince looks all regal and whatnot?”

“No, well yes, it is but it’s not that.”

Leon put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “It is regretful that our prince in that state. We are just glad he is alive and that we can take him back to his kingdom. I’m sure you have seen the unfortunate state that even the prisoners in the Camelot dungeons can get themselves into?”

Merlin sighed. “Yes, I know but it’s not just the mess he’s in, he… he didn’t seem to want to leave. He wasn’t exactly excited to get out of there.”

Elyan spoke, “Merlin, who knows the torment he has been through? It’s unlikely he is in his right mind. I’m sure once we’re headed home, he will be back to his usual self.” He smiled kindly. “Do not think too much on it, you have an important role to play in rescuing him still. He needs you sharp.”

Merlin nodded seriously, “I hope so”. Though he added quietly, “It… it took a long time for him to recognise me.”

“Look, he’s been imprisoned for gone near six weeks! Enough to send anyone a bit barmy!” Gwaine chimed in.

“Perhaps, you’re right.” Merlin quailed to think of what Arthur had been through during that time.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine once we get him out, don’t worry.” Said Elyan kindly. “Now come-on whilst you’ve been skipping round the tower, we’ve made a plan.”

“It’s not your plan is it Gwaine?”

Elyan laughed, and slapped Merlin on the back. Gwaine pretended to be offended “And why would that be cause for concern?”

Merlin just grinned.

“I’ll have you know I have made many excellent plans. But if it makes you feel any better, Leon has spearheaded this one. Though the arson was my touch.”

“Arson?” Responded Merlin, his voice pitching excessively at the end of the word.

“You’ll see.” Gwaine have him a wink. This did not relax Merlin. He looked back to Elyan, but he was busy talking with Percival.

“Merlin, was your identity discovered at any point during your visit to the tower? Did anyone see you?” Asked Leon.

“Well I spoke to one person, the cook, but I think she believed I was meant to be there.”

“Any other prisoners?”

“Umm… no. No, there was only one other prisoner and… he was in no condition to be a problem to us.”

“Right well we will assume that you are able to move around in the tower with some freedom. We will sail closer to the isle once it is darker, the tide will be on its way out now correct?” Captain Neifion nodded. “So, we will have to be careful.

The Captain continued. “As you know those canoes are only meant for two men, I suggest we just get as close in as we can and wade the rest of the way.”

They sailed the short distance across the eerily calm ocean to the shallows of St. Patrick’s Isle. The captain occasionally looked to Merlin expectantly, who scrabbled each time with the spyglass he had been entrusted with to ensure they were on course. Once anchored only a few metres from shore Leon jumped overboard with a soft splash into the shallow water, Elyan and Gwaine and two sailors followed swiftly behind. Their plan was to light fires over at the far side of the causeway where the small port lay. This should cause enough of distraction to draw out the majority of guards on duty at the tower. Gwaine and the sailors would light the fires, and Leon and Elyan would ensure their safety and retreat. Merlin shrunk at the idea of burning the boats of the merchants and fishermen, who from his brief observations earlier, seemed like ordinary folk just trying to survive like any other islander. With the exception of farming, the boats were in all probability their only method of making an income on the tiny island. Though Gwaine had assured him that they would only be torching the larger ships in order to avoid being followed, Merlin couldn’t help but feel guilty. It seemed unfair that innocent people should have to suffer in any way due to their mission. He wondered how much destruction dynastic struggles had already caused and thought of how attempting to escape from such things was likely the reason that most of the islanders were there. He was shaken from his reverie by a firm grip on his shoulder.

“Ready?” asked Lancelot.

Merlin pursed his lips and nodded. “Just one moment – Gwaine!” From his satchel he pulled the coin purse that they had found in the River Habren. He discretely added his own few merge coins and tied the string tightly to secure them. “Take this.” He said to Gwaine who had turned back to him waist deep in the water.

Gwaine raised a brow.

“Leave it somewhere obvious near the port.”

Gwaine tilted his head slightly but didn’t comment. He took the purse and nodded seriously. Merlin turned back to Lancelot, who had manoeuvred his way into one of the small canoes. Daffyd crouched in the other and was part way through untying it from the main vessel.

“You sure about this Merlin?” Percival asked him. He was remaining on board the ship along with Captain Neifion and the rest of the crew. It was not that they did not trust the men from Maelgwn as such, but more of an assurance for each party that there was mutual trust between them. Merlin didn’t miss the way Percival’s eyes narrowed to watch the others make their way to the shore. He knew Percival was uncomfortable being left behind but it was the safest option. They needed a knight to ensure the protection of their only method of escape - Arthur’s only way home.

Merlin darted a quick look at Lancelot and back up to Percival. “Yes,” trying to put all the confidence he could into his voice. “I’m sure.”

Percival nodded to him, then to Lancelot. “See you soon then.”

Daffyd’s deft hands tugged expertly at the remaining knot and they were away.

***

Keeping as close to the rocks as they dared, Lancelot and Daffyd rowed further around the isle, looking for a sign of the sea exit Merlin had seen from the inside of the castle. It was near impossible in the dark, but the smooth sea made their journey a little easier. Several minutes passed by and Merlin could sense Daffyd becoming increasingly worried. Lancelot to his credit continued to row calmly. Eventually Daffyd whispered above the soft dip of his oars.

“Where to this stairway then? You sure there is one Merlin?”

Merlin confirmed his plan and continued to scan every fault-line and crevasse in the dark lichen covered rocks when a thought struck him. _It’ll be hidden too_. He almost slapped his forehead in frustration. Hoping that they hadn’t already rowed past the passage, he began searching by focusing his intent and using his peripheral vision instead. A few more minutes passed, and he was glad that his companions remained quiet. The water lapped gently at their little boats. Somewhere in the distance he heard shouts, perhaps the others had been discovered? His pulse quickened and he had to force his thoughts to return to his task. If they had been discovered, it was imperative that he didn’t waste time. _There_. On the edge of his vision he sensed a deeper darkness than before. Another small cave… a doorway? He didn’t try to look directly at it, and instead let his mind be pulled towards it. _Yes!_ It was certainly a natural fault in the rock, but it had been carved by human hands to make it wider – much wider. He spoke quickly in a low voice to the others, directing them to where he could just about make out an entrance that was plenty large enough to row inside.

“Well I’ll be.” Said Daffyd in a somewhat mystified voice. “There’s a little boat house here and everything, I know it’s dark like but it didn’t seem like this was here before.”

Merlin felt Lancelot looking at him, but his friend merely commented, “Well done Merlin, no wonder old Neifion trusted you earlier with that spyglass of his. Eyes like your namesake for sure.”

“Of course!” whispered Daffyd jovially. “I think Hawk Eyes should be you new name.”

Merlin grinned in spite of himself. “I’ve had worse than that I s’pose.”

The boat house was hewn straight into the side of the cliff, giving the sense of yet another cave. It was not quite adjacent to the ebb and flow of the sea and in the darkness, Lancelot bumped their boat into the inner wall. They cringed at the sound in the gloom, which was only made penetrable by the distant pale light of the moon and stars.

“No harm done.” Daffyd said. He had already jumped out of his boat and had managed to tie them onto some sort of cleat. He was now running a skilled hand over the body of their boat.

“Thank you.” Replied Lancelot. “The last thing we need is a leak.”

The briny tang of the ocean was near caustic to Merlin’s nose now that they were enclosed with it in such a small space. He bent his face to his neckerchief before stepping from the boat and edging carefully onto the tiny slippery dockside. It was narrow and the three of them barely fit, but it led up to the set of stairs Merlin remembered from earlier. He puffed out a relieved breath and set to climbing the narrow steps until he came to a yett.

Merlin assumed he would be able to gain entry there, having had no previous trouble gaining access to other areas of the tower. He was wrong, the yett was locked. Quickly, he turned to check that Daffyd hadn’t followed them and had waited with the boats as agreed. Lancelot was a few feet behind him on the stair, blocking any view of him from their other companion. Drawing closer, Merlin allowed his magic to gather inside him and channelled it into the lock. Nothing. He let out a perturbed grunt. “ _Unlucan.”_ He whispered to the lock. Still nothing. He gave it a stern look and summoned a more powerful blast. _“Scænan.”_ He insisted. _“Tólýsan!”_ None worked. Finally, he took hold of the bars and shook them vehemently. A sudden cold energy leeched its way through Merlin’s palms, he sucked in a breath quickly letting go and flexing his hands automatically to try to shake off the sensation.

“Cold iron”. He muttered anxiously to himself. He turned to Lancelot bleakly. “I can’t open it.”

His friend strode up the steps to the gate and rattled it too. Notably, Lancelot did not immediately let go and seemed to be able to shift it a fraction.

“It’s got a bit of give. Look the bolts are terribly rusted, probably all the saltwater.”

Lancelot grasped the latticed ironwork more firmly and pulled hard. It shifted minutely again.

“Are you folks alright up there?” Daffyd called quietly. “You’re making a bit of a racket.” He came up to join them by squeezing his bulk into the non-existent space at the top of the stair and surveyed the situation. Nodding to Lancelot the two men took hold of the yett and heaved. It budged a little more but nowhere near enough. “We need a chisel and hammer… there’s both on our galley.”

They looked each other grimly. Shouts could be heard in the distance once again and Merlin winced. How much time did they have? The others must have set the fires by now and their distraction would only last so long, they had no idea how many guards would attend to the situation and it would only be a matter of time before attention was drawn their way.

Lancelot withdrew his sword and attempted to jimmy one of the hinges. He succeeded in chipping away a flake of rust. He jammed it harder, his sword reverberating loudly but only a few more flakes fell.

“Merlin…” Lancelot began.

At the same time Merlin spoke, “I’ll go the long way.

“Do you really think you can use the servant entrance again?”

“Looks like I’ll have to try. It’s easy once inside for me to find this passage from the other side. If you and Daffyd work on getting this open, then at least we’ll have a quicker exit. If not, I’ll have to sneak Arthur out the long way…”

“Will your…” Lancelot darted a look at Daffyd, but he was busy poking at the bolt with a stubby finger. “Will you be able to conceal the both of you?”

“Only one way to find out I suppose.”

Lancelot nodded resolutely. “I should go with you.”

“No, I need you to work on getting this gate off. Will you go to the ship with Daffyd to get the tools?”

“Yes of course.”

“It might be worth leaving a torch at the entranceway to this boathouse so you can find your way back. I was only able to see it because of my er… hawk eyes.”

Daffyd clapped him on the back in the tiny space. “Right you are. Come on then Lance, best get moving if we’re to give this lad and his prince a way out.”

They made their way back down the slimy bladder wrack littered steps to the boats and settled into their original seats. Daffyd guided them out carefully to the open water and they were able to make their way across the short distance to the cave where Merlin and Lancelot had moored earlier that day. Merlin didn’t waste any time leaping from the little vessel and clambering onto the rocks, he raised a hand in a half salute, half wave of goodbye before continuing his slippery journey up to the citadel. He paused part way when he knew he was out of sight to draw the concealment spell over himself and continued as hastily as he could. It took him much longer than he preferred but it couldn’t be helped. Eventually he was outside the servant entrance. Merlin hesitated again to look around him, but he had only seen two guards and they were on their way towards the port. He lifted his head briefly to the air and could almost taste the smoke. _Good_ , he thought. _If the guards are still on their way there it means more time before they are on their way back. Hopefully…_ Entering cautiously, Merlin was relieved to find that no guards attended the corridor. He crept through the tower passages as quickly as he dared, making sure to follow the route that he knew led to Arthur in his mind’s eye.

Finally, he found the passage that sloped down in a spiral and knew he had made it. This time he had brought a small torch with him, he withdrew it from the inside of his cloak. _“Forbearnan_.” Its friendly flickering light made him cringe, it seemed so conspicuously bright in comparison to the dungeon’s abysmal darkness. He shuddered to think what it must be like down there alone, with nothing to penetrate the gloom and only a dying man for company. But as he got to the man, he found he was no longer there, just the pool of blood. His eyes darted immediately to find Arthur. The prince was laid on his side, legs curled up and back to the bars. His hands were over his head. Merlin raised his torch fearfully to cast more light over Arthur’s body and saw to his immense relief that no similar red puddle surrounded his form. _Alive at least._ He swallowed the lump of dread he had been carrying since leaving Arthur and made sure not to look towards the neighbouring cell again.

 _“Unlucan_ _.”_ Merlin whispered to the cell lock. Relief washed over him once more as the lock responded to his magic and he was able to step through the open door carefully. He noticed distractedly that the water jug had been knocked over, it’s dull pewter sheen catching the light of his flame. He hoped that Arthur had been able to drink some, but he could see the shiny patches where it had clearly split. At least there were water canisters on the boat. The cheese and bread lay nearer to Arthur but obviously hadn’t been finished off.

Merlin softly called his name; to his dismay Arthur flinched violently in response. HE carefully walked around where the prince lay; taking care with his torch, which nearly caught on some fibres hanging down from the cell ceiling. He batted them away with his free hand and knelt close to Arthur’s side.

“Arthur?” He said again softly, there were no sounds in the tower, but he didn’t want to take any risks. He raised the torch and noticed for the first time the extent of Arthur’s injuries. What he saw made him cringe. The cut to his temple that he had noticed earlier had obviously bled a lot. Red smears swept through his hair, down his cheek, crusted in his shaggy beard and ran down to his neck. Black marks of either bruises or dirt littered every inch of pale skin that he could see. His poor hands, which were still being held over his head were also blood covered; the nail beds were torn and jagged where he had clearly been clawing desperately at something. Merlin suddenly realised that Arthur was wearing the same shirt and trousers from the day they had left for the patrol, he recalled in vivid detail how he had dressed him in them. Now they were little more than threadbare rags covered in congealed blood. It startled Merlin how superficial it was for him to be fretting over the clothes considering the state Arthur’s body was in, but the contrast between how they had been and how they looked now was stark. The prince he had dressed all those weeks ago had stood tall and proud and perhaps arrogantly if Merlin was being honest. To witness that same man laid on his side now made Merlin’s heart ache.

“Oh, Arthur are you all right?” He peered closer. “No stupid question of course you’re not.” He rambled. “Look I’m back, like I said, can you hear me?”

Arthur, much to Merlin’s relief, did not flinch away this time but instead opened his eyes. He did however, wail. “I’m sorry, I said I was sorry!” His voice cracked and creaked worse than earlier causing Merlin to believe he hadn’t drunk anything at all.

“Arthur it’s okay…”

“You’re not real!” He rasped.

“Shhh! Someone will hear you!” Merlin covered Arthur’s mouth with his hand and squinted up the corridor. He heard nothing and let out a breath. He looked back to Arthur who was now in the process of sitting up abruptly and closing a hand around Merlin’s. The prince was staring and staring at his hand with wide eyes. Suddenly he lunged towards Merlin, sending the torch skittering along the damp stone floor.

“Hey, what the!?”

“It’s _you_!”

“Well yeah.”

Arthur was patting and pawing at him. Feeling up his chest, to his neck face and then down his arms. He gripped him by his elbows, hard.

“Oi, watch it!”

“You’re alive!” Arthur ran his hands up Merlin’s arms to grip him tightly by the shoulders. He shook him a little. “So it _was_ you that came before?” His voice was so horse it was barely above a whisper.

“Before, yes who else do you think?” Merlin tried to make out Arthur’s expression, but it was difficult in the dim light. His eyes seemed huge in his hollow face; they glistened with the glow of the torch and perhaps something else. “Of course I’m alive.”

“I thought, oh God in the woods I saw the…” he swallowed, his voice strained more than ever. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them his gaze was intense and pleading, “…you were thrown into that tree and you didn’t get back up.”

“It’s all right it’s fine, I’m fine. See?” He peeled one of Arthur’s hands from its vice-like grip on his shoulder and placed it over his chest. “Heart still works and everything.”

“But you… you haunted me. I kept seeing you here, and the knights from our patrol. You though, you appeared to me the most.”

“I did?”

“Yes.” He said so low and his words so stilted that Merlin had to lean nearer to catch them. “You came… you told me that you were dead. And I knew…” He cast his eyes down, his voice growing lower still. “It was my fault.”

“It’s this place. It makes things seem what they are not. I don’t know who was messing with you but it’s just some cruel joke. Do you know who is in charge, who took you?”

Arthur shook his head. “My head was covered until I got here. I’ve only seen the… the prisoner who was in the cell next door, and some of the guards. But Merlin, you can’t be here.” He pleaded. “It’s safer if I stay, leave me”. Despite his words, Arthur was practically kneading Merlin’s arm and clutching at the front of his cloak with his other hand. Holding onto him as if he didn’t want him to go.

“I told you, we are breaking you out. Your men are here.” Merlin reached for the torch. “Come on, get up they’re all waiting. We have to go!”

He sensed Arthur was going to keep arguing but Merlin stood up and Arthur, still holding on to him struggled to his feet. Immediately he lost his balance and fell upon Merlin’s shoulders.

“S’ok. I’ve got you.” He felt Arthur hesitate again. “The knights are waiting, please we don’t have _time_.” He half dragged Arthur out of the cell and started down the corridor. It was slow progress holding the prince up and trying to see his way with the limited light. He was clearly very weak and leaned heavily on his manservant. Favouring his left leg significantly. Merlin tried to clear his notions of what injuries the prince might have sustained, there would be time to check him over later.

They moved noiselessly through the entranceway and began their way to the sea tunnel exit. He prayed silently to the gods that Lancelot and Daffyd had managed to unlock the yett. Suddenly he stopped.

“Merlin? What’s wrong?” Arthur whispered.

“There’s a guard ahead.”

Arthur heaved a rattling breath. “Can we go the other way?”

“I don’t think so.” Merlin replied.

“Are you armed?”

“Yes, well I have a knife, yes but they’re right there!”

“Who goes there?” A feminine voice could be heard beyond the guard, though they were just out of Merlin’s view.

“Oh I umm…” Merlin froze crippled by indecision, he couldn’t use magic so obviously in front of Arthur, but he couldn’t reach for his knife whilst half carrying him either, and Arthur was in no state to fight. _Run! Lie! Shout for help!_

“Stand down please guard.” Spoke the voice and the guard nodded obediently. “I think you may be needed down at the docks though, there seems to be quite the commotion.” They nodded again and went on their way.

“Easy there friends.” The voice came closer, and Merlin saw the speaker for the first time. She wore an alb girdled loosely with a cincture and held her empty hands up for them to see. It was impossible to tell her age. She stepped cautiously closer, looking directly at Merlin. “I see you are attempting a rescue.”

“Who are you? Are you a Druid?” he asked.

The woman huffed a humourless laugh. “It is not of importance. Come now, they will not be distracted for too long and many innocent lives may be saved if you are able to get your prince back to his kingdom.” She smiled.

Arthur remained silent, so Merlin decided for them both. “Which way?”

“You were perhaps thinking of the sea tunnel? Are you aware of the cold iron gate that prevents _all sorts_ of people from getting in and out of this tower by boat?” Merlin couldn’t help but tense at her inflection on the words ‘all sorts’.

Merlin shook his head. “I thought I might be able to unlock it somehow?” _More like use_ _brute force and a chisel, courtesy of Lancelot and Daffyd._

“You will need this.” From within the deep folds of her robe she withdrew a key on a simple piece of rope.

“Why are you helping us?” Merlin asked, taking the key.

She smiled again. “King Uther Pendragon has friends in the strangest of places.”

Arthur’s body was slipping lower and Merlin took a moment to hoist him up a little, trying to support his weight more. When he looked up he saw that the woman had turned and was already making her way back the way she had come.

“Wait!” He called and she slowed. “Here,” he reached awkwardly into his jacket pocket for the Ogham stone. “Thank you for your help.”

She looked at the little stone in vague amusement and shook her head. “You will need that as payment to _Mannan mac Lir_.” Merlin frowned, his hand still outstretched towards her, the stone in his open palm. “Leave the key in the gate before you go.” She said firmly and promptly departed. Leaving Merlin to watch after her uncertainly, he closed his fingers around the Ogham stone in confusion. Merlin looked to Arthur, he was leaning into him heavily and panting slightly with skin now so ashen that it made his injuries seem more pronounced. He adjusted his hold around his back.

“I suppose our best option is to trust her for now.” Merlin said in hushed voice, more to himself as Arthur’s eyes were drooping. Not waiting for a response, he moved them forwards and through the passage that he knew would lead to the boathouse stairs.

Daffyd was part way through removing one of the hinges, in the gleam of the torch light Merlin could see that his hands were covered in rust and grit. He looked up apprehensively at Merlin and Arthur as they approached, and on realising it was them attacked the yett with renewed fervour. He brought the hammer down on the chisel again and again with no regard to the cacophony of sound it created.

“Hey!” came Lancelot’s voice from somewhere behind Daffyd in a loud whisper. “Someone will _hear!_ ”

Daffyd shifted to the side to provide Lancelot with a view of Merlin and Arthur, and continued bashing at the hinge, the sound ricocheting violently off the stone walls.

“Daffyd stop it’s all right, look.” Merlin pulled out the key, being careful not to singe Arthur as he juggled his torch.

“How in the hell did you get hold of that? Actually, never mind pass it here – and the torch.”

Merlin did as he said and the torch was passed on to Lancelot, who smiled tightly at him, his eyes taking in the state of the prince with unspoken concern.

“This bloody gate Merlin” He said heavily, “it’s like it’s cursed or something.”

Merlin merely grunted in response, he shifted Arthur’s weight which was sagging progressively onto him and moved through the offending yett. Lancelot helped and together they managed an inelegant shuffle down the steps and into the boats. Merlin would have preferred to keep Arthur with him but knew that Lancelot was the stronger oarsman; he wrapped a spare cloak around the prince’s sagged shoulders and drew up the hood with the utmost care. Then he hopped down into Daffyd’s boat and they made their way back to the ship.

Yet again, Maelgwn’s men proved good to their word. Neifion greeted them quietly and then continued to keep his eyes out for the others. Percival caused a minor disgruntled complaint from one of the sailors, as he rushed to the side in his haste to help Arthur, his bulk threatening to capsize the ship with his sudden movement. Merlin peered around. It was concerning they were the first back, but their worries were soon settled as they heard a low whistle from Gwaine who came traipsing through the briny water towards them, shortly followed by the others.

“That was almost easy.” He said merrily as he hoisted himself up onto the ship with Percival’s help. He smelt particularly strongly of burnt toast and had a large smudge of ash across his cheek. Percival grinned at him but kept quiet about the mark.

“We’re not home yet. To your oars everyone.” Called the Captain. “Best to douse those torches now lads.”

They did as commanded and were once again enveloped in the velveted shroud of night. Elyan helped them to move around the boat to their seats while Percival took the bench next to them, and without a word took up the majority share of rowing. Merlin smiled at him gratefully, though he knew he could no longer really see him.

Arthur remained awake, just. Merlin could tell by the tensity still held in his body. He seemed increasingly nervous despite them getting farther away from the tower and didn’t even relax once the lights on the island were completely out of view. Merlin had half a thought of teasing him for being seasick or scared of water to lighten the mood but decided against it. He was feeling rather uneasy himself; they were potentially dealing with an angry old sea-god after all. The ocean had lost its eery calm and was hinting at making their journey tempestuous. He mouthed a spell to it, the words coming out fainter than a whisper. “ _Mannan mac Lir, aswebban þin holmþracu.”_ Then, heading the words of the alb donned woman, Merlin dropped the Ogham stone into the water too.

“Hmm?” Murmured Arthur.

“Nothing, try to sleep.” _I’ll watch over you_. He didn’t sleep but stared out to sea with a harrowed expression for the rest of their journey. _Perhaps it will be better once we are back on dry land._ Merlin thought to himself. It wasn’t until they were nearly back on the shores on Gwynedd that Merlin identified the unknown anxiety that had been nagging at the back of his mind. The woman in white had been able to see him, without him first speaking to her, and Merlin _knew_ they had been silent, he had made sure of it.

His thoughts were quickly forgotten by the time they made it back to the port where there was a flurry of celebratory activity. The crew were greeted by the cheers of Maelgwn’s people, and some of Arthur’s own whom had stayed from helping the build. Arthur nodded in greeting, and shook hands with some of the people, but his eyes were mistrustful and his stance wary. His horse seemed to have developed the same demeanour, she was skittish, and the bright whites of her eyes shined when Arthur came near.

“Come now”, said Merlin softly, stroking its nose. “It’s only been a few weeks. You know him.” Secretly he also whispered, “ _Aswebban_.” And offered her a piece of apple. Her soft velvety lips buffeted his palm and he smiled thankfully to her before confidently handing Arthur the reigns.

They did not rest for the night; the first glimpses of dawn could be seen kissing the Eastern horizon with a soft lilac hue and the company were agreed that it would be best to start their journey home as soon as possible. Arthur remained uneasy on their ride, he was either irritable or sullen; hr intermittently excluded himself from the rest of the group by riding resolutely ahead or slumped down in his saddle in a moody silence when amongst the group.

Worse than his moods, was his unavoidably obvious odour. At least it was the main thing that troubled the nose of anyone who rode too close as he was yet to bathe properly; despite Merlin’s offer of help. His hair had become shaggier and even more matted than before without proper care, and his beard was patchy – although he seemed to have least splashed most of the congealed blood away. Arthur wouldn’t let Merlin near him at least, not to examine his wounds or clean him up. He had managed to change his clothes independently, but that only added to his bedraggled appearance. He worried what injuries the prince must be hiding. _How bad could it be that he won’t show them to me – and that he prefers to remain in this state?_

As the light of the sun dissolved into the horizon, they made their camp. It was decided that they would pitch tents due to the inclement weather, but Merlin didn’t mind the cool summer rain and remained seated outside by the fire for some time. Sir Elyan had volunteered to take first watch with Leon and Merlin could hear them walking light-footed through the trees on the boundary of their camp. Earlier, Arthur had made a point of saying he should be part of the rotation to keep watch but was shouted down. He only conceded when Gwaine made the point that the king would not appreciate finding out that his recently rescued son had had to keep watch while there were plenty of men available and up to the task. Arthur grumbled and skulked to his tent; but there was little else his could do. Merlin knew he was still awake as he could hear him moving around behind the canvas, though he must be pacing in less than a yard’s length. He rolled his eyes and stared into the fire. Wondering for the hundredth time how he had coped with his confinement. The fact that Arthur had thought all his knights from the patrol dead, and perhaps wishing he had died with them. The idea that Merlin, or rather an apparition of Merlin had haunted him and blamed him for their deaths made him shudder. He thought of how the people in the woods had seemingly disappeared, he wondered how many of them they had really been fighting all those weeks ago by the river.

He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of his name being called. It was Arthur. He hurried over the tent and made his way inside. Arthur was sat down on the bed, still fully dressed.

“You all right? Can I do something?”

“Yes, er could you help me with my boots?”

Merlin gave nonchalant shrug, “Sure.” He thought perhaps it was painful for Arthur to pull his legs up to unlace the boots. _Progress perhaps?_ Merlin untied them quickly and pulled both off. “They’re a little damp, I’ll dry them out near the fire.” Arthur nodded distractedly. Lacing and unlacing his fingers together. Merlin made his exit and was thinking about maybe heading into one of the servant tents for the night when Arthur called him again.

“Yes Arthur?”

“I need some more water.”

“Right.” He took the canteen from Arthur, their hands brushing as he passed it and vaguely noting that it was still half full. Merlin made his way down to the small stream they were near, re-filled it with fresh water and headed back. He placed it on the upturned crate that served as a makeshift table and realised that Arthur hadn’t moved from his position on the camp bed.

“Anything else?”

“No, no thank you Merlin.”

He frowned faintly at the bedraggled prince but chose not to say anything. All his previous attempts at offering support had been useless, and he didn’t want another row. It was late after all. “Goodnight then.” He left and managed to take his own boots off and had even found a spare cot to sleep on in one of the large communal servant tents when Elyan came by.

“He’s calling for you.” He smiled ruefully.

“Again?” He asked incredulously.

“Yup. Sorry Merlin.”

“No, that’s okay I don’t mind. Thanks Elyan.”

Merlin trudged over to the prince’s tent and entered. Arthur was now laying down stiffly on his camp bed.

“Yes?” He asked, trying not to sound irritated. He was only tired after all the stressful events, and he knew Arthur would not have called if he did not need him.

“I was thinking about the rest of the journey to Camelot.”

“Uh huh.”

“We should go over it again.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, what’s the strategy? Who knows our route? What are our supplies like?”

“It’s the same strategy as always, usual formation that rotates with lookouts surrounding us on horseback, only the kingdoms of Camelot and Gwynedd know the route, and probably a few merchants and peasants from both lands, and our supplies are the same as when I told you all of this information a couple of hours ago.” He finished with a yawn.

Arthur grunted. “And who’s keeping watch right now?”

“Sir Leon and Sir Elyan still, their watch has barely started.”

Arthur was staring up as the canvas ceiling. Merlin could make out his fingers knotting and unknotting over his sternum.

“Err… anything else?” He asked with another yawn.

“What about when get back to my father, what are his plans?”

“He is thinking about changing some laws in regard to sorcery and no doubt there will be a response to your erm… to you being away.” Merlin was about to add, _as we already discussed_. But stopped himself. He was happy to be of service to the prince, and was deeply gladdened that he was back with them again, but it was getting ridiculous. If Arthur was going to stay up all night requesting trivial things and asking inane questions, then it looked like Merlin wasn’t going to get any rest either.

He looked over to Arthur again tiredly and noticed how much tension his body still held. And then a thought popped into his head. _He doesn’t want to be alone again._ Merlin looked around at the space in Arthur’s tent. He cleared his throat.

“It’s pretty cramped in the servant tent. I think I left it too late to find a spot.”

No response.

“And here you are with all this”, he waved his hand around. “Bit selfish really.”

A grunt.

“I think I’ll bring another cot in.” He pressed. “What do you say?”

“You always do what you want anyway.” Came Arthur’s muttered reply, but his tone was not unpleasant.

Merlin took that as a yes and went to fetch his few belongings and the cot. It unfolded inside the tent with a prolonged creak, which made him cringe. Arthur was completely silent but in the dark Merlin couldn’t tell if he was actually asleep. He doubted it but allowed him to pretend. He drifted off into his own slumber easily.

He dreamt of Ealdor for the first time in months. Of Will and his mother, and her stews that she used to make. His mind took him to a particularly lovely memory, or perhaps his sleeping mind filled in the gaps. He was laughing whilst being lifted up in someone’s arms, a man’s, his father’s? Perhaps. His mother was singing nearby. He felt warm and safe, but there was a nagging sensation that he should be doing something or going somewhere. Where was Arthur? Was he safe? Was he meant to be looking for him? He felt like he was always looking for him. He jumped violently awake, but it was not due to his dream, someone had grabbed him.

“Wha’s ‘appening?” He asked groggily. Rubbing his eyes but not seeing much. It was still obviously the middle of the night. He peered out into the darkness and heard a hasty rustling over towards Arthur’s side of the tent. “Arthur?” He asked.

“Yes, sorry. I needed to… nothing. Go back to sleep.”

Merlin touched his own arm where he felt it being gripped not a moment before. He sighed, settled back into his cot, and slipped into sleep once more.

It was not until midday the next day, when Arthur reached for him, squeezed his arm briefly and then carried on riding without a word that he realised; _he’s checking that I’m really here. He’s checking to see that I’m real._

That evening when it was decided they would need to erect the tents again Merlin made sure that two cots were put into Arthur’s. One of the other servants smirked at this, but other than that nothing was said. Certainly not by Arthur who simply stared for a moment at the sleeping arrangements, perhaps at how closely the cots had been placed together. _Within arm’s reach._ Before asking once more for help with his boots and turning in for the night. Merlin couldn’t help but notice that none of the knights called on him to keep watch even though it had been part of the plan for Merlin to take the second shift. He smiled to himself, knowing their reason and being grateful.

By the third day of their journey they had gotten into somewhat of a routine, and even when the weather lifted Merlin still made sure he was near, despite not needing the tents. The continuing problem, however, was Arthur’s increasing uncleanliness to which he accepted little to no help with, the only exceptions being his boots and occasionally cloak. In the heat of the day, even Leon, the most temperate of the knights had had enough. “Look Merlin”, he said in a hushed tone, pulling Merlin to one side, “can’t you do something about his…” he gestured to his own face and body. “I don’t know if I can deliver him back to the king looking or _smelling_ like that.”

Merlin sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what else I can do, except throw a bucket of water over him and I’m not even sure that would help. I don’t think there’s much I can do until we get back.”

“I’m becoming concerned for his state of physical health and that of his mind. It’s most unlike him to be this adverse to even basic medical care.” Leon bend his head towards Merlin conspiratorially.” I saw him earlier today, attempting to bathe in the river. As I approached him, he was particularly hasty to hide something on his right thigh – obviously a wound by the limp he continues to attempt to conceal.”

“I’ve tried I really have, but even if he is hiding a wound and it’s infected as we fear, we would have to wait until Gaius can treat it.” Merlin replied in a pained voice.

“Well we’ll be back soon enough. If he truly won’t let you near it, leave ointment and bandages and hope that he has sense to look after himself at least until we reach the castle.”

Merlin hummed in disappointed agreement but if he was honest, he wasn’t sure how much better things would be when they returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drafted this chapter for the Scruffy Pendragon Fest, but then the story got out of hand. Over a month later here it is (face palm) oh well!
> 
> It is possible that spyglasses or a type of telescope had been around as far back as the ancient Greeks. However very little evidence remains, they were possibly still quite rare in the 5th and 6th centuries.
> 
> Neifion – Welsh name meaning god of the seas (Neptune is the Romanised form).
> 
> I hope the irony of Merlin failing at pretending to be Irish isn’t lost on you.
> 
> Unlucan – to undo, open (a door), to unlock  
> Scænan – to break, wrench open, shatter  
> Tólýsan – to dissolve, loosen, relax, unhinge, separate, break open  
> Forbearnan – burn up/ consume by fire.   
> (All Old English)
> 
> Mannan mac Lir and Manawydan fab Llŷr – Both are mythological figures of Celtic tradition – or they are the same person... Gaius described some of the tales of Manawydan (Welsh) in an earlier chapter. Llŷr is Old Welsh for sea. So, he’s the son of the sea. There are many great folk tales to enjoy featuring Mannan (Manx)/ Manannán (Irish, Scottish Gaelic). While Merlin offered the sea god an Ogham stone, a real votive offering may have been a tiny gold boat that is part of the Broighter Hoard.
> 
> Mannan mac Lir, aswebban þin holmþracu – Mannan son of Sea, calm your restless ocean. (Manx and Old English).


	5. Pendragon Red

Anxiety can be contagious. It poured from Prince Arthur and trickled its way through the nerves and into the hearts of the men around him. As they continued their journey home, Merlin found himself repeatedly looking over his shoulder expecting to see some unknown enemy at every turn in the road. There never was one.

“Look Merlin you’re making me jittery now that there’s two of you doing it.” Chided Gwaine. “Can’t you, I don’t know…”

“Relax?” Supplied Merlin with a sigh. “I keep trying to, but then I catch sight of him twitching at something and I can’t help but get my guard up.”

“To be honest, we’re all the same.” Gwaine confided. “He’s our leader, if he’s tense so are we.”

Merlin nodded in understanding. They rode on, not saying much of anything for a long while. Merlin’s attention was mostly on Arthur. He watched as the prince yet again sat up abruptly in his saddle and peered earnestly into the woods, his eyes narrowing at some unknown demon. It was moments like these when Merlin longed to have Captain Neifion’s spyglass again so that he could examine even further through the thick trees to seek sight of whatever foe the prince sensed. Then all of a sudden, as was common these last couple of days, Arthur shook his head as if to clear it and stared pointedly ahead – with all the look of a man determined not to see anything but his horse’s ears in front of him.

Arthur had been quiet the whole journey back, and while he would sit with the men by the fire and watch and listen and laugh along to their tales of Leon’s seasickness and how Percival had nearly fallen straight through the decking – his smile never reached his eyes. Occasionally he must have felt Merlin watching him, as he glanced his way once or twice, but he did not make any motion to speak. More worrying, had been the lack of food Arthur had eaten. He had already lost a lot of weight during his imprisonment, that much was clear just by looking at him, but at this rate he would be little more than skin and bone before they got him home. Merlin added it to his list of concerns, mentally filing it away to be examined and fretted over later.

On their final night of camp, with the first hint of the citadel in the distance, Merlin sidled up to Arthur by the fire. Arthur automatically reached to touch him, though he seemed to catch himself halfway through the act and faltered. Merlin grabbed his outstretched hand, turned it upward, and pressed and apple into it firmly. “Have this.” he said, noticing the look of relief Arthur gave at the physical contact. It was imperceptible unless really paying attention, and Merlin did. He saw how Arthur’s lips became a little less pursed, his jaw loosened fractionally, and one tiny divot in his brow smoothed. “You need to eat something, it must have been days and I’ve only seen you nibble a tiny bit of dry deer, that’s it.”

Arthur pulled a face. “I’ll eat when we get back, I can’t stomach anything now.” He got up abruptly, or as abruptly as his ravaged frame and injured leg would allow and disappeared into his tent. Merlin looked around at the knights and saw that Leon had been watching them. He gave him a thin-lipped sympathetic smile and continued his discussion with Elyan.

The majestic towers that loomed over them in the sun’s evening rays as they arrived had never been such a welcome sight to Merlin in his life. It seemed that their arrival was equally welcome, considering that the whole court met them on the castle steps. Uther strode out in full regal attire and gave his son a quick, tight embrace. Merlin was impressed to see that he barely wrinkled his nose when he did so, but didn’t miss the narrowed eyes that shot accusingly his way. _I did try_ , he wanted to say but knew he could not. The king stood back, holding Arthur by the shoulders, and looked him up and down. “My son, my poor son.” Merlin was surprised at the gentleness of the king’s tone despite the barely concealed distress in his eyes. Uther pulled Arthur to him once more and Merlin noticed the prince shaking slightly.

“Father I’m… I…”

Uther cut him off, “Not now.” He inclined his head subtly at the gathered crowd. Arthur looked desperate, guilty, forlorn. _Why? He’s back now isn’t he?_ Merlin bit his lip and stored another worry away.

The king turned to face the crowd fully, keeping a discrete steadying hand on his son’s back. “People of Camelot!” he addressed in his booming voice. “Our prince is returned! Let this be testament to ourselves and to our enemies that whatever the turmoil we face, we overcome it. Nothing stands in our way. Nothing defeats us. We endure, we survive, we succeed!”

It was excessively demonstrative and political as always, but Merlin couldn’t help but be swept up in all the cheers. _They had done it, they had traversed the land and sea, avoiding their invisible enemy along the way to retrieve their prince._

He watched as Arthur pulled his public mask on, shifting his stance a little and raising his head. Despite his ordeal, he managed to appear strong in that moment. For his father no doubt, but also for the people. Morgana had come out to greet them but held back, eying Arthur speculatively. That she did not tease him of his appearance was very telling of her concern. “You were missed.” Was all she said, before picking up her skirts and returning inside, Gwen quickly followed her, but not before offering them a shining smile. Arthur left his father’s side once it was clear he was dismissed and headed into the castle alone. Merlin sighed and began to lift the various packs from the horses.

“Leave it to the others.” A deep voice said. Merlin flinched; Uther rarely spoke to him and hadn’t expected him to. “Tend to my son first.”

“Yes sire.” He said with a bow, even though the king was no longer paying him any attention and was instead speaking sternly to Sir Leon. Merlin didn’t know why he was stalling over the horses and bags so much. _Yes I do._ He was nervous about what he would discover Arthur had been through, he had never, _never_ seen him like this before and was frightened that he would still not be able to help. _Got to try_ , he thought resolutely. He passed Gaius who had also come out to meet them, they exchanged a look that managed to convey their combined anxiety without expressing it amongst the rest of the court.

Raised brows and a tilted head. _What happened? Are you all right?_

Merlin glanced after Arthur. _I’m fine._ _He needs me, something’s wrong._

His mentor placed a warm solid hand on his shoulder briefly. _I know but you must look after yourself too._

He offered him a small smile. _I will, I always do._

Gaius rolled his eyes but returned the smile _._ “I’m glad that you are back in one piece my boy.” _Go on then._

It took little time to reach the prince’s chamber. Merlin raised his fist to Arthur’s door but then thought better of it. _It would be weird if I started knocking now._ Instead he strode in purposefully, ready to console, cajole, or counsel, but when his eyes found Arthur he faltered. He was at sitting at his desk, travelling cloak, matted hair and all – writing. Very busily writing. _What on earth could he need to write? Did he need a speech so soon?_

“Umm…” Merlin said awkwardly. “My lord?” _My lord?_ Merlin frowned inwardly. _When had he started being formal?_

“I am not in need of your services tonight.” He had paused in his writing but did not look up. “Thank you Merlin.” He said firmly.

“But… I thought that you might want… King Uther asked me to…”

“You may _leave_.” He said this time through gritted teeth, still not looking up. His quill dripped a large black globule of ink onto the parchment. Arthur didn’t appear to notice.

“Arthur, I think that…”

“GET OUT!” He roared. Still staring down at the papers in front of him. Merlin could see an actual vein pulsing near his temple.

He held up his hands, in a placating gesture but did not leave, he had never been one to listen to Arthur, even when he threw things.

“I can’t go, the king has commanded me to clean you up.”

Arthur was gripping the quill so tightly that the ink practically spurted out, its barbs quivered dangerously. He stabbed it down onto the page.

“Fine,” he suddenly got up. “Then I will make you go.” He strode to Merlin and manhandled him out, slamming the door behind him.

 _Well, that went well._ He thought, but he was deeply troubled. He didn’t want to barge in again when Arthur was clearly so distressed, but he also knew he couldn’t leave him alone in this state. He huffed. _Nothing else for it I suppose_ he thought and sat down outside the door to wait.

***

Merlin awoke when he felt the door being removed from behind him. He collapsed backwards into the room, bumping his head hard against the floor.

“Ouch! Bloody hell you could have knocked!” He rubbed the back of his head indignantly, and looked up to see Arthur, arms folded in a regal prattish posture.

“Do I need to point out that you were blocking the door to _my_ chamber, from the _outside_?”

Merlin rubbed his head again. _I’ll have a lump_ he grumbled inwardly to himself.

“You been here all night?” Arthur asked.

Merlin stared up at him for a long moment. Taking Arthur in properly. The new day didn’t make Arthur look any better despite the supposed rest. His hair was dishevelled as it would usually be in the morning, but it was still streaked with black gunk. Arthur had obviously given his face a cursory wipe as there didn’t seem to be as much grime on it, but that only functioned to accentuate the new hollowness of his cheeks, dark bruises beneath his eyes, and messy scruff of tangled beard.

Merlin cleared his throat. “I didn’t want you to feel that you were alone.” He admitted quietly.

Arthur seemed to be taking Merlin in similarly. “You’re a loyal friend Merlin.” He paused, holding out a hand and pulling Merlin to his feet. “Come on, you can get me some breakfast.”

The spark of joy that Merlin experienced at the idea of Arthur actually eating something was a little ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. He could count on one hand the number of items in the last few days he had seen the prince consume. However, his hopefulness was short lived. When he returned with a breakfast tray, heavily laden down with fresh bread, fruit, porridge, honey, and cheese – he found Arthur pacing again. He did not start towards to breakfast tray, even as Merlin noisily laid it down and began pouring tea. He bit his lip and was about to say something before he was startled by the bang of the door opening suddenly.

“Arthur, my son. Are you well?” Uther strode to him and put a large hand on his arm. He scrutinised Arthur for a moment but appeared satisfied when the prince nodded. “It has brought me great pains to think of what you must have suffered at the hands of those heathens.” Uther paused and Merlin shifted under the feel of his furious glare but didn’t dare look up. “You will eat something, and then you will make yourself presentable for court. Camelot needs its crown prince and I need my son by my side again, if you are able?”

“Yes father.” Arthur said tiredly.

“Good. Though God knows what this idiot servant of yours has been doing, he has clearly lapsed in his duties while you were away, perhaps you’re sad your free time is over now that Prince Arthur has returned?” He sneered at Merlin who gawped at the accusation. “I’ll send George, and you boy deserve a whipping.”

“Father,” interjected Arthur in a slightly shocked voice, “I locked him out, it’s not his fault.”

Uther grunted.

“There is no need for George, Merlin is more than capable and if it weren’t for him, I might not have been found. It was him who insisted on searching for further clues, no? And accompanying the knights to retrieve me, hardly a holiday.”

The king narrowed his eyes at Arthur but conceded. “If my son is not refreshed and respectable looking for court then consider yourself sacked and a week in the stocks boy.”

“Yes sire.” He responded meekly.

“Do not be late Arthur.”

“Yes father.” Replied Arthur giving a small bow as Uther left just as abruptly as he had entered. Arthur exhaled and sat down by the tray. He helped himself to a cup and readily drank but did not move towards the food.

“Umm,” Merlin rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Thanks.”

“Hmm? What for?”

“You know.” Merlin gestured towards the door where the king had just exited. “Standing up to your father for me.”

Arthur looked up at him, his eyes open and honest. “I owe you much more than that Merlin,” He continued in a soft low voice, “and I will not see any harm come to you, certainly not by my father. Do not worry.”

Merlin laced his fingers together in front of his body and gripped them tightly. He hoped desperately that this were true. Perhaps neither of them would ever have to find out about his magic. Perhaps things would change. One day maybe. He looked back up to Arthur who was studying him, with a slight look of perplexion that made Merlin bite his lip uncomfortably. _He doesn’t know, he can’t._ He told himself.

“Anyway,” said Arthur lightly, “I can’t have George here, I’d have to deal with your petty jealously then wouldn’t I?” He took a sip of tea, smirking slightly at Merlin’s indignant scowl.

“I’m not _jealous_.” Argued Merlin petulantly. But then he rolled his eyes, secretly enjoying Arthur’s rare spark of humour. “Well maybe a bit… but I’ve looked after that armour for so long I feel like it’s my own. You can’t let that creep touch it.”

“Oh a creep is he?”

“Yes. And his eyes are too close together.”

“That’s not very nice you know Merlin.”

“I know it’s not, and if he was here you’d have to look at his odd features too.”

Arthur laughed. “Pointing out physical differences hardly puts you on the moral high ground.”

“I never said it did. I’m taking the moral low ground instead, whatever it takes.” He grinned and Arthur shook his head fondly at him. He finished his cup and put it back down on the tray.

“Umm, is there something else that you might like to eat?”

“No this is fine.”

Merlin shifted on his feet uneasily. _Might as well try._ “Gaius will want to examine your injuries can I take you to him now?”

Arthur sighed. “I’ll go myself after I’ve bathed and been to court. There’s nothing serious, it can wait.”

Merlin nodded glumly, “I’ll start fetching the water for a bath then.” He roped in a couple of other servants to help carry the buckets of hot water up the stairs. On his second trip down he paused by the kitchens.

“Ger away wi yer!” Yelled the cook. “I’ve giv’ yer Prince’s breakfast already an’ I ain’ got nowt for thee.”

“He won’t eat it.” Merlin said.

“Nonsense.” She replied folding her thick arms over her large body.

“He won’t eat properly, not since he was – since he’s been away.” He shook his head dejectedly. “Is there anything else I could take? I’m sure King Uther would be much appreciative to know that his son was on the mend after his – ordeal and that it was you that helped him.”

The cook considered him for a moment before she leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “I’ve made a batch o’ pheasant pies fer dinna, the’ still coolin’ mind, but yer can tek one up t’ yer prince – tha’ll tempt ‘im I’m sure.” She parcelled up the largest of the pies and gave him a wink as she passed it to him. “Go on now, off wi’ yer. An’ don’t you be tellin’ no one I’ve been handin’ out extras. Whole world’ll be wan’in’ summat.” Merlin smiled widely and thanked her profusely. She tisked but not unkindly and swatted him away.

As it turned out, Merlin perhaps would be speaking the high praises of the cook to King Uther, if he dared, because when he returned with the pie, he had Arthur’s immediate attention. “What’s that?” he sniffed. Merlin unwrapped it, placing it carefully on one of the empty plates. Arthur lifted the edge of the pastry up gingerly with the tip of a knife. Suddenly he all but pounced on it.

“Careful it’s still…” he started but was cut off by the sight of gravy already dribbling down Arthur’s chin and into his scruffy beard. “Hot.” he finished lamely.

“Huh?” Arthur grunted, looking up. “Are there more of these?”

“Well, potentially. How about you bathe first, and I’ll see if I can persuade the cook for some more.”

Merlin turned away grinning like a delighted fool and busied himself by laying out some clean clothes for Arthur. He struggled, as he didn’t want to pick out anything that would accidentally accentuate the prince’s waning figure and sickly complexion. He also wanted to make sure that he appeared regal when he first re-entered court. He could ask Arthur he supposed but didn’t want to interrupt his meal now that he was finally having one. In the end Merlin picked out a plain linen tunic, dark trousers, and a high collared deep blue jacket. His formal red cloak would sit over the top of it all as usual. The sound of water sloshing as Arthur got into the tub made Merlin smile again. He laid out a length of linen on a nearby stool then turned back towards him.

“Will that be all then Ar…?” but his words died in his mouth. Arthur’s demeanour had suddenly and completely changed. He was sitting folded over in the tub with his back to Merlin, his arms were wrapped around his legs and his forehead slumped onto his knees. “Umm do you want me to leave you to it or…?” No answer. Slowly he walked over and stood behind him. “Arthur?”

Merlin watched Arthur’s back rise and fall shakily as he sighed. He reached out to touch his shoulder, resting it hesitantly on the bare skin to offer some modicum of comfort. Another shaky breath. Merlin peered curiously over the prince’s curled body, tilting his head to the side to try to see his injured leg beneath the steaming water. He could clearly make out a blackened area about a hand’s length at the top of his thigh, which might just be bruising. However, he then noticed a faint red swirl trailing innocuously into the bathwater, tinging it slightly pink. Merlin leaned closer, attempting to make out the damage. At least the bleeding seemed to be slow, perhaps the wound had mostly scabbed over already he wondered to himself. He definitely needed to get Gaius to look at it, there could very well be an infection. Arthur shifted slightly and Merlin’s attention was brought to the realisation that he was freely staring at the crown prince naked in the bath. He was about to withdraw his hand, when Arthur reached for it and rested his own over the top, securing it in place.

“Stay,” he said, “I’ll not get all this filth out myself.” He tugged feebly at his grimy hair.

“Right.” Merlin replied, dazed by his shifting mood. He passed Arthur a sponge and got to work lathering Arthur’s hair, pulling a stool up behind him. As he rinsed it, he watched the rivulets of water running down, making little streams of clean skin through the dirt. He scrubbed harder at a particularly black area on his neck. Arthur yelped.

“Oh god, I um, sorry!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.”

“Sorry, I thought it was dirt.” He peered closer pushing Arthur’s head gently forward. “It looks more like a line or something.”

“It’s _fine_ Merlin, it’s just a bruise.” Arthur jerked away from his touch, bringing his sponge up to swipe over the skin himself.

“Right, um ok. Well I’ll let you finish up.”

Merlin moved away, providing the prince with some privacy to exit the bath and dry off behind the screen. He waited somewhat apprehensively, knowing that he was about to see Arthur the most undressed he had seen him since before the attack. He should have prepared himself better because as Arthur stepped out from behind the screen, his jaw practically dropped. The prince’s broad chest had several long scratches across it, and although they seemed nearly healed, the scars that remained were vivid. The ribs underneath protruded beneath the scarred skin, and below that, much of his muscle had wasted away from his stomach. His breeches, which were usually tight against the muscle of his thigh sagged slightly and the thin material provided Merlin a hint of the injury that he had glimpsed earlier. Arthur wrapped his arms across his torso self-consciously.

“Well?” Arthur snapped, “Don’t stand there gawping, get me ready.”

“Right, yes, umm sorry.”

Merlin dressed him hastily, his fingers flying across the ties and buttons of the clothes as quickly as possible. He didn’t look at Arthur, for he did not want him to see the horror and pity in his heart that he knew his eyes would betray. As he continued to work, he found the process of enveloping Arthur’s wasted body in layers of soft cotton and rich wool oddly cathartic. Each little adjustment to the prince’s comfort felt like he was providing a silent reassuring caress. It may have been his imagination, but Arthur’s posture seemed to become less hunched and more regal with every small adjustment. When he was finished, he stood back and surveyed his work critically, and not without a bit of pride. He had chosen the clothing well but there was still something amiss.

“Hmmm. Nope, it’s got to go.”

“What?”

“The beard, and your hair needs a trim.”

Arthur just nodded wearily and sat down. Merlin removed the cloak that he had just fastened, laid another length of cloth around his shoulders, and got to trimming his damp hair swiftly – all the while being mindful of the scissors against the nape of his neck where the bruises were. He frowned at them again and chewed his bottom lip saying nothing.

“Alright, ready?” Asked Merlin, razor blade in hand. Arthur merely shrugged.

With the utmost care and concentration Merlin began his next task. The last thing he wanted to do was nick Arthur, and so like the bathing and the hair cutting there was none of their usual banter. He started by clipping the straggly beard back close to the skin, something he had not had to do before due to Arthur never having grown it out so long. Once only blond stubble remained, Merlin reached for the soap and worked it into a thick lather across Arthur’s lower face and neck. Arthur meanwhile stared down at the floor, seemingly disinterested in the whole process and perhaps somewhere else altogether, his eyes were unfocused, and his features had taken on that harrowed appearance again. Cautiously, and watching for his reaction, Merlin took up the bronze razor in one hand and cupped the prince’s chin in the other. A new stillness fell over the quiet chamber, with the only movements coming from Merlin’s deft hands with the bronze blade. Arthur’s hands finally stopped twisting in his lap and his eyes moved from the floor, Merlin could feel them on him. He didn’t meet the gaze and instead allowed himself to be observed in his work. Each confident sweep of the blade revealed smooth, unmarred skin and just as clothing the prince had felt cathartic, unveiling his face was the same. Merlin tenderly removed the scruffy, unkempt, and unwelcome beard, revelling in the trust afforded to him which had been previously denied. All the while Arthur watched him.

As he lifted the prince’s chin to shave beneath the jawline he paused and met Arthur’s intense blue eyes. They widened briefly and fell away. Merlin was certain that he would have turned away had he not got his chin in his grip and a blade next to his throat. _What happened to you? Why was this attack so much worse than any other time you’ve been into battle? Why won’t you tell me?_ But instead of asking these questions, and the hundred more that filled his head, Merlin pursed his lips. He traced his fingers, barely touching, across the surface of the broken skin. It was not as healed as the scratches across Arthur’s chest – _newer, happened after the abduction_ ; and they seemed much worse under his chin than at the back of the neck where it was bruised – _more pressure applied at the front than the back of the neck._ Merlin wiped away a little of the soap to examine the area further. Black, blue, and purple speckled marks ran along the skin in addition to bright red puffy irritated lines – _not inflicted by a weapon or claw, a ligature?_ Directly underneath his chin, in the shadow of Arthur’s jaw Merlin noticed small wounds that were deeper and of a different shape and size to the ligature marks – _blunt claw marks? No, he must have tried to remove the rope from around his neck and scratched himself in the process._ Just then, he felt a shudder rock through Arthur under his touch and saw how he was gripping the sides of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were white. Feeling brave, Merlin lifted one of the prince’s hands delicately in his own and examined the torn nails, then the other. Arthur let his hands go limp in uncharacteristic submission.

“Arthur?” He tried gently.

Arthur screwed his eyes shut, and Merlin saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. A muscle was jumping in his jaw and without thinking Merlin cupped his face with both hands and brushed his thumb over to sooth it.

“What happened?” He whispered. “Were you, did they…” he couldn’t bring himself to say the word ‘tortured’.

“Merlin please”, he opened his eyes. “Just… please don’t.” The muscle jumped again, and again Merlin soothed it with his thumb. He looked at Arthur for a long moment, at the dark circles, at his brilliant blue eyes that seemed far too shiny.

“Alright.” He murmured.

Arthur closed his eyes again and blew out a long breath, Merlin felt it tickle his cheeks. He stroked the jaw quietly once more before withdrawing and taking up the task of shaving Arthur again.

A few minutes later Merlin wiped away the residue soap from Arthur’s face and neck. “Okay, I’m done.” He stepped away from Arthur and let out his own breath that he hadn’t realise he’d been holding.

Arthur shrugged on his cloak again and faffed to sort the fastening with his sore blunt fingers. Merlin hastily swept a few stray blond bits of hair away that had crept into the prince’s collar and took over the finishing touches; adjusting his jacket collar and cloak so that they sat high against Arthur’s throat. Unfortunately, neither reached quite far enough to cover the marks that his beard had previously hidden. He bit his lip.

“You may get some looks when people see these.” He said as kindly as possible but wincing with awkwardness.

Arthur of course knew what Merlin was referring to. “Well just cover them up will you!”

“With what exactly? I can’t stick this stubble back in can I?”

 _“Mer_ lin!”

“Fine, fine, here take this.” He began to pull at the knot on his neckerchief.

“I can’t be seen wearing a peasant’s rags.” Arthur scoffed.

“Suit yourself _sire_ , but it’s Pendragon red. Why do you think I wear it?” That shut him up.

He removed the knotted scarf from his own neck and then wrapped it very carefully around Arthur’s throat in such a way that no wounds were visible. Despite Arthur’s snappiness not a moment before, Merlin felt a slight reluctance to end the whole ceremony of bathing and dressing him. It was as if their time being separated had somehow heightened his need to serve him. Nonetheless, he finished his task by tucking the loose fray ends delicately under Arthur’s collar. The effect was actually quite good, and he stood back to admire his work. When he met Arthur’s eyes he was a little embarrassed to see that he also seemed to be weighing Merlin up in the same manner. Merlin suddenly became very aware of the eyes that regarded his own thin shirt, which gaped at the neckline and put his pale pasty skin newly on display.

Arthur touched a hesitant hand to the fabric at this throat. “It smells like you.”

“If that is intended as another insult then you can bugger off.”

“No, no.” He placated. “It’s nice. I mean…”

Merlin raised his eyebrows incredulously. While Arthur’s brow furrowed slightly, his jaw had tightened again. Then he met Merlin’s gaze. “There were times when I was in that cell and I felt despair like I had never known before.” Arthur’s fingers touched the scarf lightly again. “But I knew you would come, and although that made me worry for your safety, because you do seem very good at getting into trouble… I knew that the danger wouldn’t stop you.”

 _Of course not, I would do anything for you._ “Nothing would stop me.”

Arthur placed a warm hand on Merlin’s shoulder, the tip of his thumb happened to brush the now bare collarbone. “You are one of the most loyal and trustworthy people I know.”

 _Trustworthy – oh but I am a liar!_ He looked down guiltily and cleared his throat. “I am not sure I deserve such praise.

“Well don’t get used to it,” Arthur grinned, “I’m unlikely to praise such a clumsy oaf very frequently.” He gave Merlin’s shoulder a little shake to show he was joking and Merlin returned the smile.

***

Merlin had not been asked to attend the council meeting and so returned to some of his usual duties in Arthur’s chamber. He helped himself to some of the leftover breakfast and after tidying up, swept his gaze around the room. There was no sign of the scribbled notes Arthur had been writing the night before, though he knew he had not taken anything with him to the council chamber. _Odd_ he thought; he scanned his eyes around the room again, until his attention caught on something left in the fireplace. He knelt down and pulled two small scraps of debris from the hearth. They were very badly burned but he could just about make out some lettering on one. ‘ _I can’t_ ’ it read. The rest of the line was gone, but there was evidence of a continuing sentence on the line below beginning with the letters ‘sh’ and looked closely at the other fragment in his hand, it was by chance that they fit together ‘ame’ it read – ‘ _shame_ ’. Merlin felt an icy cold tingle of dread run down his spine. He shoved the pieces of paper back into the fireplace, whispered “ _Forbearnan_ ”, and watched them burn with little satisfaction. In spite of the terrible crick in his neck, Merlin felt very glad that he had stayed outside Arthur’s door the previous night.

He was unable to take his mind off what the words could mean, why Arthur had written them, and what the rest of the paper might have said. He busied himself by cleaning all of Arthur’s equipment and armour that had been used during their return to Camelot, and then settled into the general cleaning of the room. Eventually the monotonous work of scrubbing the floor settled his thoughts somewhat. So much so that when Arthur returned, he found himself unsure of where all the time had gone.

“Oh, hello you’re back,” he said brightly, throwing the scrubbing brush down. It made a happy splosh into the pail.

A grunt. Merlin raised his eyebrows as Arthur stomped into the room and stood at the window. Arms folded.

“Good meeting then?” he asked jovially.

“ _Mer_ lin I’m not in the mood.”

“No, but I think you _are_ in a mood, _sire_.”

“Your cunning deductive skills are unwelcome.”

“Is that a posh way of saying shut up?”

Silence.

“What’s wrong?” he tried.

“Why does there have to be anything wrong?” Arthur turned, hackles up.

“I didn’t say there was, it’s just that you know,” he gestured to Arthur, “you’re all… well you know.”

“All _what_?”

“Arthur,” he tried, “it’s no secret that you must have been through a lot when you were taken. You clearly need to rest, and eat, and perhaps talk?”

“For God’s sake you’re as bad as the rest of them!”

Merlin frowned confused. Arthur signed, “You’re saying the same things as everyone in the council meeting. They just wanted me there today to present me to the court and say, ‘look here’s the crown prince we got him back, hurray. Now get him out of the way again while we plan our counter attack on an enemy we know nothing about and weren’t even aware of until I was taken. Perhaps we’ll just make stricter and even more harsh laws on our own people, yes that’ll teach them’.”

“What laws would those be?” Merlin asked nervously.

“Oh the usual, anyone with a talisman that looks remotely like anything to do with the old gods gets put on the pyre, anyone speaking an unrecognized dialect in our lands, killed, anyone who even remembers what a Druid is, chain them up – throw away the key. It makes me sick our citizens will be terrified.”

“So you don’t agree with them then, these new laws? What did you say?”

“I said nothing of course, I was ushered out as soon as I objected, what would I know? Just the rescued damsel in distress.”

“I bet Morgana would agree with you. Err I mean about the laws, not the damsel bit.”

Arthur regarded him. He blanched. _Oh no, he probably shouldn’t have said that_. “She agreed with both actually and managed to be much more effective in court than me in getting her point across. She said there was no point in punishing our people or any innocent people for the crime of having a wet blanket for a prince.” He rubbed his hands across his face. “I’m tired.”

Merlin took that as his cue to leave, thinking that he would visit Gaius and ask him about the wounds he had seen. As he made it to the end of the corridor, he saw Morgana marching purposefully in his direction.

“Oh I wouldn’t, he’s in a particularly bad mood…”

“I don’t know how you put up with him,” but she said it without any malice, “but I do think I might have been a little harsh on him just now.”

“Perhaps, but he’ll survive. I think he was glad to have your support at least.” He felt his ears turn pink as he asked recklessly, “What do you think about the new laws my lady?”

She regarded him for a long time and he resisted the urge to flinch under her unwavering gaze. “I have no say in the matter, but you ask me as if to prompt me to speak against the king.”

“No, I… I…”

Her expression softened. “I think that justice for what has been done to Arthur should only be served to those people, and not to a whole host of innocents, the use of magic is not necessarily a part of it.”

“So you believe magic isn’t all evil?”

She laughed scornfully and without humour. “Do you Merlin?”

“It’s no more and no less evil than people.” He couldn’t help but feel pleased to receive an approving look from her, despite his risky statement.

“You are very interesting Merlin. I can see why Arthur likes you.” She looked up the corridor towards his chamber. “Perhaps it is best if I leave him in peace, at least for a short while.” She gave him a small smile and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a Northerner and talk like it. That there cook is too, who knows why. Fun (possible) fact. ‘Nowt’ like much of modern English is derived from the Old English ‘nāwiht’ and has stuck around in the North – it means naught/ nothing in case you didn’t know. Same goes for owt (āwiht - anything), bairn (bearn - child), and nesh (hnesce - feeble, particularly in cold weather). There’s loads more.


End file.
